Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry
by Tawa bids you good day
Summary: Sirius and Harry live fugitive lives, but Sirius can not protect his godson from the Ministry, or the truth, any longer. [PART TWO FINISHED] Chapter 23: A desperate plan turns into a fight to survive.
1. Life under the Moon

NOTE: This is the SECOND PART of a three-part story. The first part (Lost: Small Boy) can be found on my profile. I hope you enjoy it.

Secondly, if you've already ready Lost: Young Man…welcome back! Unfortunately, the story was deleted by admin because I had review replies in the author's notes, which made me very sad…but my own damn fault, I know. Thank you to the 300+ reviews you wonderful people sent me, and now that the story is back, I hope you will return as well.

Any questions/criticisms you have will now be answered on my new Livejournal (link from my profile) or by email.

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry 

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After the death of the Potters, life went on for Remus Lupin. In many ways, it was much the same as it had always been. In others, it was completely different.

He tried not to think about all the things he wouldn't have any more, but it was difficult not to. There would be no more late evenings spent sitting with Lily at the Potters' kitchen table, sorting through the _situations vacant_ sections of newspapers. No more cheerful words of positive reinforcement from Lily, no more soft glances of support from her eyes, green as fresh young leaves. There would be no more of James cooking pikelets in the kitchen, and dancing out of the sky on his broomstick whenever he felt like visiting Lupin. No more of James' laugh greeting him whenever he came to stay, and no more of James endless brotherly love when Lupin lost another job, or felt a bit down, or had another painful transformation.

There would be no more late nights on the town with Sirius, no more Sirius asking for Firewhiskey in muggle bars just to see how the muggles would react, and no more sitting on Sirius' sagging couch playing Kings and Arseholes with a man who was a pathological cheater. No more uproarious stories about Sirius' adventures in Romania, or India, or distant New Zealand. No more of Sirius rushing up to Lupin in the street, crying, "why the long face, Moony?" linking arms with him and skipping down the street with a silly grin on his face.

And there would be no more Harry. No more of Harry's smile, quiet and full of intellect. No more of Harry's shrieks as his father hurled him into the air and his giggles as James caught him every time and set him back onto his feet. No more of Harry listening to his mother read with avid concentration. No more Harry curled on Lupin's lap, drooling on his shoulder. No more of Harry demanding piggy-back rides from Sirius. No more of Harry's questioning stare, with his eyes that were so much like his mother's, and yet so different. No more Harry.

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Two weeks after the Potters' death, there came a knock at the door, and Lupin leapt to open it. Somehow he knew, it had to be Sirius and Harry, just as Harry had knocked on his door on a rainy day not so long ago. But it was not. It was Andromeda Tonks, whom Lupin had never expected to see.

Andromeda and Lupin sat on the couch in front of the fire, and talked about memories and changing times and childhoods that were now long gone. Andromeda smiled, sadly, and touched Lupin's cheek.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Because you need someone," she said, "because you're alone now, and it will kill you."

"You told me you hated me. You called me a liar and a beast."

"That was a long time ago. I've grown up a bit since then," she leaned forward, "I don't hate you. I never did. I was just afraid."

He shook his head, and turned away, "you're married. You still hate me for what I am. And you're here because you pity me. Please, don't do that."

She got up, kissed him on the cheek, and left the cottage for the first and last time. Lupin sat and watched the fire burn down to ashes.

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One day in winter, a couple of years later, he opened the door to see Albus Dumbledore standing there in the snow, brushing flakes off his beard. Lupin invited him inside and made him tea with a shaking hand. He had not spoken to Dumbledore for two years, ever since Dumbledore had told him exactly why Sirius had fled the hospital with Harry.

"I'm sorry to see you're alone for Christmas," said Dumbledore, "it seems an awful waste of your fine company. I'm sure there many people who would love you to grace their table for dinner."

"Oh, well, Arthur Weasley invited me to dinner for Christmas Eve, but I thought, what with the full moon tomorrow night, I had better not," Lupin was lying as he went. Despite everything, he felt embarrassed that Dumbledore should know how lonely he was over Christmas. To change the subject, he asked, "why ever would you come all the way out here, Headmaster? Not for my cheery smile, I'm sure."

Dumbledore did not seem to hear the sarcasm in Lupin's voice. He replied brightly, "I just remembered how delicious your tea is. Absolutely exquisite. And also," he added, "I want you to come and teach at Hogwarts."

The kettle slipped out of Lupin's hand and boiling tea splattered over his bare feet. He yelped and sat down on the arm of the couch, and poured cool water from the tap over his scalded ankles, while Dumbledore flicked his wand and cleaned up the mess.

"I'm not a teacher. Wh-what could I possibly teach?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts, of course."

Lupin raised one eyebrow. "You've already got a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And it's the middle of the school year. And I don't know _how_ to teach!"

"Those are all very weak excuses, Remus," replied Dumbledore with a smile. "Naturally, I wanted you to have some time to prepare for your new position, which I know you will do very well at. And as for the position already being filled, I'm afraid Professor Lockhart just does not quite _fit_ at Hogwarts, and luckily, his contract only lasts until the end of this year. I feel he can be convinced to move on after that. I hope that having you as a professor will surely get my despicable students focussed on their studies. Not to mention giving you something to focus on as well."

"That's all very well, but that job is jinxed anyway! No one's ever lasted more than a year."

"Well," shrugged Dumbledore, "I didn't think a little prejudice would dissuade a man like you."

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So Remus Lupin became Professor R.J. Lupin, and for a while, he forgot about all the things he'd lost and let himself enjoy his new work. And enjoy it he did, from the constant accidents his first years seemed to cause simply by walking into a room, to the astute discussions he had with his sixth and seventh years about issues such as Moody's military command of the ministry, wizard intervention in wars between the centaur tribes, and the ethical treatment of werewolves. Lupin took both sides of the arguments and watched in fascination at the conclusions his students came to, none of them having any idea they were being observed by a real, live werewolf.

He also had the chance to teach two familiar faces: Nymphadora Tonks in third year and Charlie Weasley in fourth. He enjoyed the company of both of the students, intelligent and spirited children that they were, whose friendship had grown since their unusual meeting on Tonks' first day of school two years before. When they had first found out he was their new professor, they both managed to corner him alone and interrogate him about the fate of Harry Potter, whom they had made such an effort to protect and then never seen again. But Lupin avoided all their questions and the grim expression on his face was enough for them to wonder if they wanted to know the answers. Charlie, at the least, knew that Harry had not died at Lupin's claws, but Lupin would not fill them in on the events that proceeded that night.

But the end of the year, Lupin had neither been killed, maimed, or obliviated, nor had his unfortunate condition been revealed to anyone who might have exploited it, so he remained the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. Charlie finished school and took a course in caring for magical creatures. Tonks left the year after and applied to become an auror, despite the turbulent stalemate between Moody's Ministry of Magic and the followers of the Dark Lord. Lupin tried to dissuade her, naming all the friends he had lost to Voldemort and all the aurors he had known who had ended up dead or permanently scarred. Tonks, however, would not hear a word of his advice and began her training anyway.

Lupin did not have time to stop his favourite student from pursuing her career because he had worries of his own to focus on. Life for Lycanthropy sufferers had taken a turn for the worst during the course of that year. The French Ministry of Magic, spurred on by rising werewolf attacks on wizards, began devising new legislation that would mean every werewolf in France would by physically branded so that they could be easily tracked down and identified. Inspired by the French Ministry's daring, the Ministry in England began to look at tightening their own laws on werewolves. Lupin went immediately to Dumbledore and tentatively offered him his resignation.

"Goodness, Remus," said the Headmaster, "you must have mistaken me for someone who fears werewolves. I assure you, they are the least of my concerns."

"But, if Moody passes a law like that," Lupin gulped, "well, you won't be able to keep my lycanthropy a secret any longer. Parents will pull their students out of Hogwarts as soon as they hear – you might even be arrested for hiding the truth…"

Dumbledore shook his head, "if my friend Alastor Moody had the power to arrest me, he would have jumped at the chance to do so many years ago. And Hogwarts is an asylum from both Voldemort's followers and the forces of the Ministry. Parents can complain all they like, but they will not put their children in danger by removing them from this school. Remus, go and burn your resignation. As long as I run this school, you will never need it."

"Alright," said Lupin, and was surprised to feel the relief flooding through him, "in that case, I was wondering if I could have your permission to spend the summer in France, supporting the pro-werewolf organisations. I've heard they're going to co-ordinate protests over the next few months until France scraps the new laws."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, he flung his hands in the air and he cried, "what are you, my house elf? Why on earth do you need _my_ permission? Go to France, Lupin, and have some fun while you're there. Just don't forget to send me a postcard."

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TBC


	2. The Hard Years

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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The first transformation was the worst.

For a whole month after they fled the hospital, Sirius had been searching for somewhere in the countryside he could rent a room, but with no luck. He needed somewhere away from other people, muggles or wizards. But he had no muggle money, only a silver watch he had taken from one of the nurses before he had fled St Mungo's. No one would rent a room to a dishevelled-looking man carrying a huge glass bottle and brandishing an unreadable silver pocket watch as payment.

Sirius and Harry had been living wild, in farming sheds, doorways, or on the ground when they had to. And Harry had asked Sirius, time and again, when they would be able to go home, and when he would be able to see Moony again, and why they had had to leave the hospital. And Sirius could not tell him – could not explain, could not think about answers – so he had kept avoiding the questions. The Wolfsbane ran out, and Sirius was terrified Harry would still be too sick to survive without it: but he had already absorbed the last of the werewolf residue and was just happy he did not have to drink the bitter potion any longer.

On the day of the full moon, Harry grew sick and weak, and seemed to find it difficult to breath. Sirius did not know what to do. Lupin never got sick until about an hour before moonrise. He realised that this was something to do with Harry's first transformation. Fearful and desperate, he broke into am unoccupied muggle country house and carried Harry inside. He searched frantically for a room with a sturdy door and a strong lock, but there was nothing, and the child's shudders were growing worse. In the end, he carried his godson upstairs to the master bedroom, shut the door and put a chair under the handle. He had the sense to take Harry's glasses and put them in a drawer just as the moon began to rise. Then the moonlight hit the window and it began.

For Sirius, it was one of the most terrible things he had ever had to watch. Seeing Lupin transform was one thing – Lupin was used to it, Lupin did it gracefully – but Harry did not understand what was happening. As his body changed and twisted, he cried, and yelled for Sirius to help him, and then began to scream for Lily. His back arched and he clawed at the bedspread, tearing great rents in it as his fingers became claws. When Lupin transformed, it had always been sudden and swift, because Lupin knew not to fight it. Harry fought it, and it took forever, and it was agony for him. Worst of all, Sirius could not touch him or help him, because he knew if Harry lunged out and scratched or bit him he would be infected as well. All he could do was sit and watch, talking to Harry for as long as he dared. When at last the small boy grew too weary and gave in, and the werewolf overcame him, Sirius was gone and the great black dog appeared in his place.

The werewolf was small, but all the more monstrous for its child-like size. It leaped off the bed at once, looking from side to side with its teeth bared, and then it saw the great black hound standing before it. Furious, maddened, it hissed and tried to attack the dog. It scratched Sirius across the muzzle, and locked its tiny teeth around his foreleg. Sirius had to hold it down with his weight, and still it struggled and howled. Delirious with rage, it scratched itself in its attempts to wriggle free, hurting its broken arm and inflaming the half-healed cuts on its face and chest. Sirius nuzzled it and howled with it and tried to calm it, but it would not be calmed. The dog remembered the first months of befriending the Lupin werewolf, which at first had not trusted the stag, the dog and the rat that had come into its lair. But it had grown to trust them quickly, and it had never attacked them. How long would it take because the Harry werewolf learned to trust Padfoot?

The night wore on, and the werewolf lay howling and whining. When dawn broke, Sirius found he had dozed, and snuffled awake as the first rays of the sun filled the room. He stood up, shook himself, and then nuzzled the boy sleeping on the carpeted floor, his bandages in tatters and his sling askew. Sirius returned to human form, carried the limp body back to the bed and lay his godson on the torn quilt. Exhausted, he knelt beside him, holding Harry's hand, until Harry stirred and opened his eyes.

"Sirius," Harry began to cry, "where are we? I dreamed I tried to kill you. Oh, my arm…I can't see anything…"

Sirius fumbled for his godson's glasses and lowered them onto the boy's nose. Harry sat up and straightened them, still clinging to his godfather's hand.

"Sirius, how did you get those scratches on your face?" Harry wiped his eyes and looked around, at the slashed sheets, the deep scratches on the floor, and Sirius' bleeding cheek and wrist, where the tiny teeth-marks could very clearly be seen.

And his godfather had to tell him, choking back his own tears, that he was a werewolf and that nothing could cure him or make it easier. Kneeling in front of Harry, Sirius told him that they could never go back to the wizarding world, but had to live by themselves, and take care of themselves from now on. When Sirius finished, Harry was silent. Then he let go of his godfather's hand, reached over and took Sirius' face in his tiny fingers. With his thumb, he wiped away the blood that was clotting on Sirius' cheek.

"It's okay," he said, "I know you'll look after me."

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Sirius did not tell Harry about the Horcruxes, or what Dumbledore had told him they must do before Voldemort could be defeated. He told himself that his godson was still too young, that he was not yet capable of understanding. One day, he'd explain everything. One day, when Harry was old enough. But every year Harry grew a little older, and every year, Sirius put off the day when his godson would be ready to hear the truth.

They lived anywhere they could. With muggles, usually. Elderly muggles were almost always happy to take in a kindly young tramp and his scarred 'son', especially farmers in need of an extra hand to help with the sheep, or to put new fence-posts in. When the moon was nearing its fullness, it was easy to say that Harry seemed a bit off-colour and perhaps Sirius would take him down to the local hospital for the night. He would find a barn or an old cottage in the middle of nowhere, turn into the dog, and the two of them would shoulder on through the night until dawn, when Sirius would return, piggy-backing his exhausted godson. But everyone got suspicious eventually, and then they had to move on.

He tried to use magic as little as possible, partly because he knew the ministry had ways of detecting it and partly because he wanted Harry to get used to a world without magic. Although he tried never to think about it, he knew it was possible Harry might never learn to do magic. He could never attend a wizarding school, and Sirius could teach his godson as best he could, but without a wand, memorising charms and hexes was useless to Harry anyway.

But he wished more than anything he knew spells to cover the scars that had formed on the right side of Harry's face, knotted and dark. He tried to tell himself they were not that bad. It was only three big scars, really, each one worming diagonally across his godson's face. One across the top of Harry's cheek, one cutting through his eyebrow and above his eyelid and causing his right eye to be slightly more closed than his left, and one across his forehead, receding back into his hair. There was another small one on his chin and another on the side of his nose, and, of course, there was the strange lightening-shaped cut that divided his forehead in two, but aside from all that, there really wasn't anything bad at all. Sirius only wished he could wave his wand and the scars would vanish. But he had never been good at illusions, or glamour spells. It took a lot of practise just to make the scars fade a little.

So life went on for Sirius Black and his godson, Harry. And the years went by, and for the first year Harry's birthday passed uncelebrated, with nothing more than a hug from his godfather and a "you're five today, cub". Sirius managed to find a steady job pouring drinks in a pub in a small muggle town, and at last they could rent a house of their own. Harry went to school with muggle children, and found for the first time why his godfather wanted to cover his scars. Children stared at the scars, and pointed, because they were children, and they could not help it. Harry learned to keep his head high and ignore the taunts, and in the end, he made friends and no one noticed any more that he had marks on his face.

But things changed, and muggles got suspicious easily, and the two fugitives never stayed put for much longer than a year. Sometimes Sirius got enough money together to buy Harry a birthday present – new shoes, a block of chocolate, or perhaps a book, which always pleased Harry – and sometimes there just wasn't any money to spare. It was frustrating for Sirius, who knew he had enough money in his vault in Gringotts to buy Harry a whole library of books, not to mention a lifetime's supply of Wolfsbane, if only he could access it. And even more than that, there was Lily and James' fortune buried somewhere below London, all belonging to the last Potter. But he had no owls to send, and anyway, Gringotts did not send galleons by post, let alone muggle currency.

So life went on, tough as it was.

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Sirius picked Harry up from school most days and walked him home to the house they were currently living in. They shared it with a gloomy old lady named Mrs Prot, who owned too many dogs. She thought Sirius was simply the most charming young fellow, and had taken the two of them in because her grandchildren had all gone to Australia and didn't visit her any more.

They had only been living in the small town for three months, and Sirius had yet to find any permanent work. They had left the last village behind after allegations that Sirius was some kind of abusive father, when Harry regularly turned up at school after every full moon with scratches and bruises on his face. The village had turned against them so quickly Sirius had barely understood what was going on, until the muggle authorities had turned up to take Harry to a foster home. Sirius had told them his godson was out at a friend's house and given them the address of some children who lived on the other side of the village, all the while shooting a patronus behind his back to warn Harry to get ready to leave. When the authorities had returned about half an hour later, Sirius and Harry had packed their belongings and vanished.

It was the last day of school for the summer, and Harry would be eleven in less than a month's time. As they walked through the carefully manicured park on the way home, Sirius said to Harry, "I'm going to go to London tomorrow. Can you manage with just Mrs Prot for a couple of days?"

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked, distracted by a snail he had seen crawling across the path.

"To find us a house," Sirius replied, nodding at the snail, which Harry held out for him to admire.

Harry dropped the snail, which landed in the grass and rolled into a patch of crocuses, "London? We're going to London?"

"Maybe," said Sirius, trying to restrain a smile at the shock on his godson's face, "there's a house there which I haven't seen since before you were born, but it belongs to me now. I haven't been back because the Ministry have been keeping an eye on it since I disappeared, but I think they've forgotten about it now. I'm going there tomorrow to make sure. And, if it's all clear, there's no reason we couldn't live there."

"You mean, we'll have a house of our own? And I can go to school in the city?" Harry's mouth gaped.

"If there's no problems, maybe," his godfather replied.

Harry whooped and threw his arms around Sirius' waist.

"Don't get too excited! I have to make sure everything's safe first," Sirius said as seriously as he could.

Harry bounced up and down, "we're going to live in London! You're going to have a job! And there'll be buses and libraries and neighbours that don't smell of cabbage!"

His godson's joy was too contagious. Sirius let out a whoop of his own, picked Harry up and swung him around. He forgot about his worries about the Ministry, and raced Harry the rest of the way home.

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TBC


	3. Surviving Grimmauld Place

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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Harry had never seen any house as forbidding as number thirteen Grimmauld Place. It loomed, glaring down at him, as he made his way up the stone front steps, carrying his school bag with all his belongings on his back. His godfather paused at the bottom of the steps, glancing around covertly. Harry stood in front of the shabby black door, and reached up to take hold of the silver knocker, which was in the shape of a twisted serpent. Sirius suddenly appeared behind him and grabbed his hand before he could touch it.

"Er…I wouldn't Harry. If I remember correctly, that snake tends to bite anyone it doesn't like."

Harry frowned at the silver knocker, "why did you used to live in this house?"

"I was _born_ in this house," Sirius told him while he tapped the door experimentally with his wand, "it was my parent's house. But they're dead now, and I'm the only Black left to inherit the old place. Hopefully the house will recognise me – although it may not be glad to see me…" his wand-tip hit a sensitive spot on the door and the wood shuddered. Clicks and scrapes could be heard from within, and then, though there was no keyhole, the unmistakable sound of a lock being drawn back. Sirius gave the door a small push and it swung open very slowly. The smell of must and stale air flowed out.

"You can go inside now," Sirius said, "but just don't touch anything yet."

Harry stepped through into the hallway, squinting at the gloom around him. He caught a glimpse of glinting glass, peeling wallpaper, and dusty silver gleams. The only light came from the doorway in which Sirius was silhouetted, and then his godfather pulled the door closed and they were plunged into total darkness.

"Just a moment," said Sirius, and Harry listened to his footsteps shuffling across the threadbare carpet, "I know there's a knob here somewhere," he muttered, then there came a hiss and old-fashioned gas lamps flared into life all the way down the hall. Suddenly the inside of the house was illuminated in the spluttering glow from the lamps, and Harry looked around him in wonder. The hallways stretched away in both directions, lined with enormous portraits filled with grim-faced people and with strange decorations hanging from the walls. Huge, heavy curtains hung across the wall not far away, and snake motifs covered everything. Harry had never been in any house that was so luxurious, so filthy, or so grim.

"Right, now, stick close to me," said Sirius, leading Harry down the hall, "there's bound to be all sorts of rude welcomes waiting for us."

"Why haven't you been back for so long? Did you have a fight with your parents?" Harry asked.

"Something like that," said Sirius. He turned down a flight of narrow stones steps and they came out into a large kitchen, covered in a layer of dust so thick they left footprints behind them.

"Wow," said Harry, staring at an oven large enough to cook a full-grown man, "did you have servants to run this place?"

"Just the one. A house elf called Kreacher. But I don't think-" Sirius was interrupted by a loud crack as something that looked like a small shrivelled bush with two red-rimmed eyes and a snout-like nose appeared in the middle of the kitchen table. Harry jumped backwards and Sirius gave a yell of surprise.

"Who called old Kreacher? Who? There's no one in the old house, no one but poor old Kreacher, who said Kreacher's name?" the decrepit house-elf twisted its neck to look at Harry, "what thief has come creeping into the house of my mistress? What is it? A horrible ugly muggle child, filthy thing, how did it get into my dear mistress's house?"

Sirius cleared his throat, "Hello Kreacher," he said loudly, as if speaking to someone who was partly deaf, "remember me?"

The elf jumped and swung its bald head around to look at Sirius. For a few moments it squinted at him, unable to recognise him, then it squealed and began to rub its hands as if trying to twist them right off, a look of horror encroaching on its wrinkled face, "it's that traitor, that mud-lover, that horrible beast what broke my mistress' heart! Oh, how did it get into the house, was poor Kreacher careless, did I let it in somehow? Oh, Kreacher has failed to protect my dear Mistress' home, I have let the blood traitor into the house!"

As the house elf trailed into unintelligible muttering, Harry raised an eyebrow at Sirius, "what is it?" he asked.

"A house-elf, Harry," Sirius explained, "they're kind of like permenant servants. only it looks like this one might have gone a bit rotten over the years. That's enough, Kreacher!"

Kreacher ceased his muttering and stared at Sirius, wheezing quietly, "does it order me? Does the scum that abandoned my Mistress dare to order me?"

"_I_ am the master of this house now, Kreacher," said Sirius, "and you have to obey me."

"Obey! Ha," Kreacher wheezed, apparently under the impression that Sirius could not hear him, "it does it's best to order Kreacher, the dirty little mud-screwer! Does it think Kreacher will listen?"

"You had better listen, Kreacher," Sirius put his hands on his hips, "I don't want you in my sight but I don't want you anywhere else, either. I am giving you a direct order: you are not to leave this house without permission. You may not contact anyone outside this house in any way, nor tell anyone outside this house that Harry and I are living here."

"Oh, the wretch, the cruel betraying wretch. Kreacher will not look at them, he will not think about the beast, and that whelp, is it the wretch's son? It must be, a bastard child of my mistress' blood, oh she would never have allowed it," Kreacher trailed off into muttering once more, and then he turned his back on Sirius and shuffled away across the table. When he reached the end he dropped down onto the ground and, hunched over and rubbing his hands, he made his way up the stairs and disappeared.

"I don't think it listened to you," said Harry.

"Oh, don't worry, house-elves have to obey their masters," said Sirius, "he'll do as I tell him. But the little toe-rag seems to have lost his marbles, living in this house alone all these years. Just don't listen to all the horrible things he says. I'm going to go down to the corner store and get us some lunch to celebrate our new home. Er…" he looked at the stairs up which Kreacher had disappeared, "perhaps it would be better if you didn't leave the kitchen until I got back. I think a lot of the doors have got jinxes on them."

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Sirius, returning from the local grocer with his arms full of plastic shopping bags, entered the front door and tiptoed down the hall, past the tall portraits which stared grimly over his head. He was beginning to wonder if it had been such a good idea to bring his godson here after all. It wasn't exactly a welcoming environment to live in. But he could already see that Harry was enchanted by the old house, and he had been so excited about living in London. Sirius couldn't take that back now.

As he reached the stone staircase that lead down to the kitchen, he heard a distant clattering, like particularly crude wind chimes.

"Harry?" he called as he put his foot on the top step, "I'm back…"

"_Sirius!"_ came a distant cry, and suddenly the clattering sound intensified, "_quick! Bring wand!"_

Sirius dropped the bags of shopping and leapt down the stairs, four at a time, whipping his wand out of his robes as he ran. He emerged into the kitchen and was brought to a halt by an amazing and terrifying sight. All the cupboards in the room lay open, some with their doors hanging off their hinges. A dozen pots and pans were bouncing along the stone floor, shaking off layers of dust as they jumped in circles, smashing into each other and rolling on their sides before leaping up again. Meanwhile, the plates were zooming and spinning through the air like muggle flying saucers, some performing complex flying manoeuvres around each other while others crashed into the walls, shattering, or skimming off the table like stones on a pond. The cutlery whizzed back and forth, striking the great iron oven with enough force to leave tiny dents and slamming into the wooden table so that they stood, quivering, stuck two inches into the wood, before jerking themselves out and continuing their mad flight. Harry was nowhere in sight.

Sirius had only a few moments to appreciate this amazing performance before three butter knives and a pair of bent forks noticed his presence and veered around, shooting towards him like deadly darts. Sirius raised his wand and fired two stunners at them, but both red bolts missed the tiny targets and smashed into the distant wall. Surprised by his lack of effect, Sirius just managed to hurl himself out of the way as the murderous cutlery sliced through the air where he had been standing and clattered onto the stones behind him.

The plates, disturbed by the fruitless stunners, suddenly paused, spun around and shot towards Sirius, and he threw himself to the floor as they whizzed through the air. He felt sure that if he had not moved, they would have decapitated him.

"Wow, you really made them mad," said a voice. Sirius turned his head and saw Harry crouching under the kitchen table, brandishing a wooden rolling pin like a sword and holding a breadboard in front of himself, like a shield. There were two steak knives buried in the impromptu shield.

"What did you do?" Sirius gasped, rolling sideways as two frying pans suddenly hurled themselves at him, trying to beat him around the head. He scrambled to his feet and began casting freezing charms at the pots, which effectively stopped their rampage.

"Hey, don't blame me, I just opened one of the drawers," said Harry, having to shout over the banging of the remaining pots, "and suddenly they all came flying out at me. But they were just bouncing around in circles until _you_ turned up!"

Sirius tried to curse a number of plates that were whirling around for another go at his head, but again, the targets were too small and he missed. As he leapt sideways to avoid the plates, Harry, who had crawled out from under the table, brought his rolling pin down on the flying platters and in mid-air smashed them to the ground. Once they were in pieces, they stopped moving.

"There's another – ugh – board in the cupboard behind you!" Harry yelled as he climbed up onto the table and began smashing the plates and the cutlery out of the air. Forks shot towards him but Harry brought up the breadboard and they slammed into it and were stuck, trying to wriggle their way out in vain.

Sirius turned and saw that there was a meat cutting board sitting in the cupboard. He grabbed it and used it to smash another plate out of the sky. It was strangely satisfying. He saw two huge breadknives zoom towards him and knocked them both flying. Unfortunately one of the tiny cake forks took the opportunity to shoot under his arm and tear through his robes before burying itself in the bench behind him. Sirius grunted, feeling a sting, but the fork had just grazed him and he whacked it with the meat board before it could wriggle away.

It took only a few more minutes to subdue the rest of the kitchenware. The last of the plates and spoons clattered to the ground when Harry smashed his rolling pin down onto the cheese grater, which was wobbling uncertainly towards him. Panting with exertion, the two of them slumped down onto the wooden chairs, grinning at each other in their triumph.

"I've missed being an auror. I've been spoiling for a fight like this for seven years now," said Sirius, opening the rip in his robes to inspect the cut the cake fork had left in his ribs. It was nothing more than a shallow graze surrounded by a rapidly purpling bruise, and he touched it with his wand, sealing it up, "but I didn't think it would be with my mother's best china."

Harry, still cradling the rolling pin, laughed, "I like it here already. But will the rest of the rooms do that to us as well?"

"I sure hope not," his godfather replied, leaning over to drop his meat board on a fork which was wriggling away towards the pantry, "are you hungry?"

When his godson enthusiastically replied to the affirmative, Sirius went back upstairs to get the shopping and brought it down to the kitchen. He laid the food out onto the table while Harry collected some bent cutlery and plates which had not been cracked too badly in the melee. The knives gave a defiant shudder as he laid them on the table, but the spell that had enchanted them seemed to have been suppressed.

"Wow!" Harry's eyes widened as they roamed over the feast Sirius was presenting. Two loaves of brown bread, oranges, cheese, muffins, a bag of sliced ham and a long salami, a tub of good butter, a jar of boysenberry jam, a carton of eggs (half of which had broken when Sirius had dropped the shopping) and four bottles of butterbeer, "how come we can afford all this?"

Sirius opened one of the bottles with his wand and butterbeer foamed out with a hiss, "there's bound to be plenty of old stuff in this house that we can sell," he said with a grin as he passed Harry the bottle, "so no worries about money right now," he opened a bottle for himself and the two of them brought them together in a toast.

"To city life!" said Harry as the bottles clinked together.

"To your eleventh birthday," said Sirius, and Harry did not seem notice the subdued tone of his voice. They sat down and began serving themselves from the delicious platters.

"Which, if you remember, is next week," Sirius added as he spread a thick layer of jam over his bread, "what do you feel like doing?"

Harry chewed meditatively on his ham sandwich. Apart from an afternoon at the park, or spending a day running through the forest with his godfather chasing birds in his dog form, he'd never really done anything special for his birthday, "I don't know," he said finally, "what sort of things _could_ I do?"

Sirius shrugged, "well, I sort of thought, perhaps we could go shopping for a birthday present."

"Shopping?" this idea obviously didn't appeal to Harry, "where would we go shopping?"

"Where all wizards shop," Sirius told him, trying to keep his tone casual, "Diagon Ally. That's where all the magical stores are. And I thought – well, with the holiday rush, it'll be pretty crowded. We might be able to…sort of…blend in."

Harry put his sandwich down and looked at his plate. For a moment, Sirius thought he was crying, and he said quickly, "but, I mean, it's your birthday, we'll do what you want…"

Harry raised his head and his godfather saw that he was grinning from ear to ear, "are you kidding? We could really go see other wizards? Look at magic shops? I wouldn't need a disillusionment charm on me or anything?"

Sirius sighed in relief, and he nodded, "I thought, maybe we'd change your hair colour, but you wouldn't have to be invisible."

Harry shook his head in disbelief, still smiling, and picked up his sandwich again, "and I can pick a birthday present? Anything at all?"

"I had a few ideas, and it has to be within reason," his godfather quickly added, "I mean, you're not coming home with a hippogriff on a leash. But yes, it'll be your choice."

Harry continued to grin while he ate the rest of the lunch, but he did not speak, just stared wistfully over Sirius' shoulder at the wall, apparently lost in thought.

-------------------------

That afternoon they began to look into cleaning the rest of the house. It was rather like inspecting a field full of mines. Sirius would enter a room first, wand drawn, awaiting any sound that betrayed the release of some poisonous gas or a dangerous beast dropping from the rafters. But apart from a nasty doxy infestation, a carpet that did its best to strangle them and a number of what looked like deflated black party balloons that left nasty red welts on Harry's hands when he picked one of them up, there was nothing else in the kitchen, downstairs dining room, or any of the bedrooms they entered that directly attempted to endanger their lives. But they had barely begun to explore the house, and though Sirius' face became grimmer every time the people in the photographs mounted on the walls turned their backs on him, Harry could not wait to see what other mysteries Grimmauld Place would reveal.

"Once we actually start touching some of those old relics," warned Sirius, "oh, then we'll be in for a rough ride. A lot of them are illegal by any laws. My parents specialised in dark magic that most people wouldn't even have nightmares about."

They had found a bedroom that was relatively empty and free of anything that might have posed a threat, and had finished scourging it out as best they could with Sirius' limited knowledge of domestic cleaning spells. As Harry knelt to check under the bed for any more spiders – which seemed to have mutated to monstrous size – he saw two huge grey eyes peering back at him. He gave a shriek and scampered sideways, as Kreacher emerged from under the bed, glancing left and right with his bloodshot gaze.

Sirius, who had spun around with his wand raised at Harry's cry, lowered his arm and glared at Kreacher, "what are you doing under there?" he demanded.

Kreacher clambered to his feet, and bowed to Harry, one arm clamped behind his back, "Young Master must forgive poor Kreacher, Kreacher did not mean to frighten him. Horrible, ugly brat that he is, oh, my Mistress would not have let him touch the hem of her cloak, oh no."

Sirius gritted his teeth and made strangling motions with his hand, "you're going to end up hammered to the wall if you don't get out of this room, Kreacher – hang on, what's that you've got behind your back?"

Kreacher's eyes widened and he began to back towards the door, "Master is busy, Kreacher should not be disturbing him, look at him, how dare he come back to the house of my Mistress as if he owned it, looking like a vagabond with his scarred beggar-boy of a son…"

"Oh, you little cockroach!" Sirius pounced on Kreacher, who squealed and fled from the room. Harry, who despite Kreacher's cruel words could not help laughing, sprinted after his godfather, who had chased the house-elf down the hall and vanished around the corner. Seeing a door ajar, Harry threw it open and stepped inside, thinking Sirius and Kreacher had just entered it.

He quickly realised he was mistaken, for the room was empty and still. It looked like a drawing room, with a writing desk standing to one side, a large blue and gold tapestry on the far wall and tall glass-fronted cabinets looming around him like glistening towers. Harry stepped closer and peered inside the nearest cabinet. It was filled with an array on strange objects, unnamable and sinister. He reached out to touch the door of the cabinet and, as his hand pressed against the glass, there came the faintest click and the door sprang open.

Hardly daring to breath, Harry bent to look at the nearest shelf. Something at the back glittered gold. He reached into the dimly-lit regions at the back and his hand fell upon something round and cold. His fingers closed around it and he lifted it into the light to get a better look.

"There you are," Harry spun around to see Sirius leaning into the room with his hand on the door handle, "I'm afraid the little scum-raker got away. He seems to be living in the air vents."

"Look what I found," said Harry, and held out his hand towards Sirius. In his palm lay a large gold locket, the chain swinging slowly in the dusty air.

"Wow, that's great," Sirius stepped in the room and reached out to take the locket, "we can sell that for sure. Forty galleons, if it's real gold – and I'll bet you anything it is."

At Sirius' words, Harry snatched his hand back, holding the locket to his chest, "let's not sell this one. I like it," he added casually, lifting the chain over his head so that the locket hung around his neck. It felt heavy and cold.

Sirius frowned, and then shrugged, "suit yourself. There'll be plenty more treasures hidden away in this place. Just be careful it doesn't explode or anything," he glanced at the tapestry across the room, glared at it for a moment, and then headed back out, calling back over his shoulder to watch out that Kreacher didn't ambush them in the halls.

Harry followed him, taking the locket off as he went. He felt lighter without it, but strangely weaker as well.

-----------------------

"You can have your own bedroom now," Sirius told Harry while they prepared dinner, "do you want to pick one after tea? There's the whole house to choose from."

"Sleep in a room all by myself?" this was a daunting prospect for Harry. He'd never gone to sleep without Sirius' light snores nearby, "but it'd be all dark. I think I'd be scared."

"Well, we can move a second bed into that big empty room on the second floor, and we'll both sleep there tonight," his godfather suggested, poking at their lamb chops with a spatula that bore a silver serpent handle, "tomorrow you can think about having your own room. And once you've got a bedroom, we'll start looking to see if any of the cellars could be ready before Sunday."

"Yeah," said Harry, trying not to feel gloomy about the coming Sunday, which was a full moon, and also two days before his birthday. But he was distracted as yet another potato peeler wriggled out of his grasp when he picked it up, trying to take a bite out of his thumb. He gave it a quick whack with a potato and it became stiff and silent once more.

-------------------------------

Harry was already in bed when Sirius, after double checking that everything in the room and the corridor outside was staying put and not exhibiting murderous desires, pulled on his nightclothes and crawled under the heavy blankets of the rickety old four-poster bed. Luckily there had been a stasis spell on the linen closet that meant the sheets had not been eaten by moths over the years the house had been unoccupied, but it did mean the beds they were sleeping in had an odd coppery smell of magic about them. Sirius reached over to turn out the lamp and noticed that the gold locket Harry had found was sitting on the bedside table next to Harry's glasses.

"Did you put that there?" Sirius asked. Harry turned over to see what he was talking about.

"Oh, yeah," he said, yawning, "I didn't want Kreacher nicking it in the night."

Sirius did not know why he disliked the locket so much. He certainly didn't remember it from his childhood in the Black house, and it wasn't the sort of thing his mother would have worn, so why did it give him such a feeling of aversion?

"Are you sure you don't want to sell it?" he asked his godson, "it's too heavy to wear, after all."

Harry shook his head, "I like it," he said, "It kind of feels like it knows me."

"_Knows_ you?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "like, I've met it before, or something."

Sirius forced a laugh, "well, alright. I'm not one to argue," he turned out the light and rolled onto his back, trying to repress his foreboding.

"Yes, you are," came Harry's cheeky reply from out of the darkness. Sirius snickered and closed his eyes. It was being back in this horrible house that was putting him on edge, that was all. Well, he had to forgot about all his previous memories of Grimmauld Place. The house belonged to him and Harry now.

---------------------------

TBC


	4. July 31st

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

------------------------------

Sound did not penetrate the walls of number 12, Grimmauld Place. But all the same, Harry fancied he could hear the birds singing as he opened his eyes on the morning of the thirty-first of July. He lay in bed for a few more minutes, snuggled under the warm blankets, straining his ears to hear the imaginary birds. Instead, he heard the enormous grandfather clock down the hall chiming nine o'clock, and he rolled out of bed, unbolted the door to his bedroom (locked to keep out spiders and the ever-prowling Kreacher) and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Sirius was already up. He was sitting at the table with an enormous cup of coffee in a mug that was pitch black on the outside and luminous green on the inside. He was rifling through a heavy old tome while a pot of porridge bubbled on the stove. There was a small hand mirror sitting on the table next to him.

"Can you get that for me, cub?" Sirius asked, taking another sip of his coffee and waving his wand to summon two bowls spoons, and a bottle of milk. Now Harry thought about it, Sirius had been using more and more magic since they had moved into Grimmauld Place.

He took the pot off the stove and set it on the table, helping himself to a large dollop of porridge and trying to read the squiggly writing on Sirius' book upside-down. Finally giving up in frustration, he asked, "what's that?"

Sirius looked up, then back at the heavy old book, "glamour spells. I found it in my mother's old room. Bound to come in handy," he cleared his throat, "there hasn't been any…er…post, has there?"

Harry shook his head. This seemed a rather perplexing question to him. Grimmauld Place did not have a mail slot, so a postman would have a pretty difficult time of delivering any letters to the house. And who would want to send them a letter anyway? Nobody knew they were here, and Sirius had always said that was good thing.

"Oh, well," said Sirius. He took another sip of coffee, and at last, it took effect. Harry had watched this process many times. Before a morning cup of coffee, Sirius could coordinate himself without any trouble, but he had all the emotive reactions of a stone. A stampede of acromantulas could charge past his ears and he would barely have looked up. He would not even have noticed if he came down to find a dismembered corpse sitting on the breakfast table. But, before long, the coffee would kick in and, as if he had been plugged into an electric socket, Sirius would suddenly wake up. This was taking place now: Sirius raised his head, he blinked twice, his ears twitched, and a smile broke across his face.

"You're eleven!" he cried, as if he had only just noticed Harry was there. Harry grinned and nodded.

"Are we still going to Diagon Ally?" he asked as he spooned porridge into his mouth. He was reluctant to believe that in a few hours' time he could be walking in a crowd full of wizards, his own kind. Sirius had told him stories about the wizarding world, but until now, they had never been anything more than stories. If it wasn't for the amazing things his Godfather could do, and his faded memories of his parents, Harry would long ago have declared that Sirius was mad for believing in magic.

"Of course!" Sirius shoved the book of spells aside, picked up the pot, and tipped the rest of the porridge into his own bowl, "we'd better take muggle transport, so we'll leave as soon as you're dressed."

"Does the subway go to Diagon Ally?" Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head, "no, there are other ways. Now," he said as he finished his porridge, "let's get down to disguises."

He laid the book of glamour spells open on the table and pulled up a seat beside Harry, draping himself over the back of the chair like a lanky insect. Harry pulled his legs up onto his own chair and waited to see what Sirius was going to do.

His godfather ran one long finger down a page of the book and muttered to himself. Then he turned to Harry and hesitantly touched his wand to the tip of Harry's nose.

"Now, if anything starts to sting, just yell, okay?" said Sirius nervously, "I'm not sure how well this will work yet."

Harry nodded. Sirius screwed up his eyes and began to mumble unintelligible words under his breath. Harry waited. His scalp began to tickle, and he felt an odd oily sensation spread over his face. Then both feelings stopped and Sirius opened his eyes.

"Woah!" his godfather jumped, and began to laugh. He reached over and handed Harry the mirror. Harry held it up and looked at his own reflection.

It was like looking at a portrait of a strange child. The boy in the mirror had Harry's features, his nose, chin, and even the scars that twisted across his cheek, but his skin was several shades darker than Harry's and sprinkled with soft freckles. His hair was of light sandy curls, like wood shavings, and his eyes were a dark woody brown. His scars were by no means covered, but with his darker skin they were not so obvious. Sirius had buried his head in his arms, trying to suppress his giggles. He lifted his head and took a breath, "well, no one is ever going to recognise you," he said seriously.

"_You're_ not going to recognise me," Harry replied dryly. Sirius pursed his lips, trying to hold back another burst of laughter.

"Alright, my turn," he said brightly, and touched the wand tip to his own nose. Harry watched in fascination as his godfather's long black pony tail began to shrink back into his head, the elastic band that had tied it back popping out. Sirius' skin wavered back and forth from rich, earthy brown to sallow and pale. At last it settled on a colour roughly the same as Harry's. His hair, now barely past his ears, was straighter than Harry's but the same colour. They looked even more like father and son than they had before.

"How do I look?" Sirius put down his wand and struck a dramatic pose.

"Without the ponytail? Less like a girl," Harry replied, and tried to look innocent when Sirius shot him an exaggerated scowl.

"It doesn't matter what we look like," he said, "just so long as we don't look like _us. _Now, go find some clothes, and then we'll be off. I'll just grab the loot bag," he was talking about a sack of various treasures they had chosen to sell.

Harry jumped up and scampered away up the stairs. The excitement hit him again and he whooped with excitement as he ran down the hall, setting several portraits shouting.

Sirius watched him go, then got up and headed back to his own room. He was glad that, for once, he could provide a proper birthday for his godson. But at the back of his mind he felt a strange disappointment. There had been no mail. No letter for Harry. No invitation to Hogwarts. Sirius knew it was a good thing, really – if a letter could find them, so could Dumbledore – but he still felt sad. He had spent the best years of his life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Why wasn't Harry free to have those years as well? Why wasn't he free to make friends with other young witches and wizards, free to learn the magical arts and break all the rules he came across? It was unfair-

_Life's unfair_, Sirius reminded himself, _especially for Harry_._ That's just the way it is_.

------------------------------

"Here we are," said Sirius as they emerged out the back of the Leaky Cauldron. There was nothing in sight but a tall brick wall.

Harry, still befuddled by the strange smokes and half-glimpsed curiosities that he had seen in the pub stared with a blank face. He felt giddy with the excitement of it all, but all the same, a brick wall was a bit of an anticlimax.

"Is it on the other side of the wall?" he asked.

"Through the wall," Sirius told him elusively. He was counting the bricks up from the ground, a frown of concentration on his face, "ah, I think this is the one," his finger had come to rest on a brick that looked like every other brick on the wall. His godfather tapped it lightly, three times, with his wand. Harry waited.

Then the bricks were sliding away and vanishing, a hole was opening in the wall, and Harry leaned forward and held his breath as, beyond the wall, a scene of glorious activity was spread before his eyes. His godfather took a hold of his arm and they stepped through the archway and into Diagon Ally.

-------------------------------

Sirius seemed almost as excited as Harry to be back among witches and wizards, and the hustle and bustle of the holiday shoppers only added to the thrill. Trying to keep a level head as best he could, Sirius lead Harry everywhere his godson pointed, watching Harry's eyes widen at the simplest magic. They spent nearly an hour in the Pet Emporium, so that Harry could examine every single animal at his leisure. The apothecary also got a thorough inspection from the fascinated boy, who insisted on asking the man at the counter all the uses of what seemed like every single herb, spice and potion on the shelves, until Sirius convinced Harry to move on before they attracted too much attention. Quality Quidditch Supplies, the Astronomy Outlet, shops full of magical instruments and shops full of strange, and often dangerous, toys, each one was a new wonder to Harry. Even the clothes shops attracted his attention, with their beautiful sparkling fabrics and tall rolls of silk in every colour imaginable.

At last, they stopped at the ice cream parlour for a rest, and Sirius treated Harry to a mountainous banana split, and an iced chocolate for himself. He was using their only reserves of sickles, but he was already planning to visit Gringotts Bank in the faint hope that he could access his vault without blowing their cover. Goblins were supposed to exercise great discretion when it came to business, but Sirius did not have the key to his vault and he did not dare try to prove his real identity.

Harry was still bouncing up and down as he watched strangely-dressed wizards and witches walk past, carrying oddly-shaped packages and calling to their children to follow them closely. A faint memory stirred in his mind, of a smiling girl with a heart-shaped face and a mane of golden hair, who had waved to him from a train…what had her name been? Tank? Trinket?

Sirius spoke suddenly, snapping Harry out of his daydream, "have you seen your birthday present yet, Harry?"

Harry paused. He knew exactly what he wanted, but he suspected it was not going to go down well with his godfather. Stalling, he replied, "there's so much to choose from."

"What about going back to the pet store?" Sirius asked, idly flicking his straw around his empty glass with one finger, "I suppose we could probably manage a pet, so long as it was something that Kreacher wouldn't eat. One of those blue kittens they had, or a toad, maybe?"

"We don't need a pet. We've got Kreacher."

"Well, what else did you see?"

Harry took a breath, trying to think of the best way to put his suggestion, "well, at first, I decided, I'd like a broomstick. Not an expensive one, mind you, just a nice plain one. But then I thought, there's nowhere I could go flying in the city anyway. And I decided…er…what I really want is a wand."

Sirius stopped flicking his glass and looked up at his godson. Harry barrelled on, "I mean, you said that you could teach me spells once I was old enough, but I can't do anything without a wand. And I promise I'd be so careful with it, I'd never use it except when you were there, at least, not until I got properly good with it. I wouldn't take it to school and I wouldn't leave it lying around where Kreacher would find it and I wouldn't…I'd…it's what I really want."

Sirius plucked at the table cloth. Finally he said, "a wand is pretty expensive, Harry."

"But we've got so many things to sell, and I just know you'll find a good job soon," Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, "and you said I could pick anything."

"Anything _within reason_."

"But…but I want to do magic!" he cried, accidentally bumping the table with his knee so that his spoon slipped off and clattered on the ground.

Sirius looked up, and then sideways, and then at his godson, who's face was strained with silent pleading. He imagined Harry growing up a squib's life, knowing the magical world but never quite part of it.

"Alright," he said, "we'll see what we can do about getting you a wand."

---------------------------

Harry still wanted to browse through the book-stores of Diagon Ally, so Sirius, who did not want Harry accompanying him if his venture to Gringotts failed, reluctantly left his Godson at the entrance to Flourish and Blotts, along with a list of strict instructions.

"Don't leave the bookshop," he said, "don't draw attention to yourself. Don't tell anyone your name. If someone is looking at you funny, just walk away, lose yourself in a crowd if you can. I'll be back in an hour. If I don't turn up in two hours, try and make your way home. Get out of Diagon Ally as fast as you can."

"I'll be alright," Harry peered around Sirius at a stack of new books gleaming in the window of the store, "_really_."

"Alright," sighed Sirius. He pulled his godson into a one-armed hug, "stay safe, Harry."

Harry waved goodbye to his godfather and headed into the shop. Inside, it was cool and quiet, and filled with the smell of books. He began to roam the shelves, running his fingers along the spines of the books, which bore the strangest titles imaginable.

Noticing a circle of couches at the back of the store, Harry picked out several books which he wanted to look at and, with a guilty glance at the shopkeeper, who was busy serving a witch with long black plaits, he sat down on the couches and began to flick through the books.

He had been absorbed in a scarlet-bound volume called _Fantastic Beasts_ when he was aware of someone standing a few feet away, watching him. Harry looked up and saw a long-nosed boy with a head of red hair and a freckled complexion standing behind one of the other couches. The boy quickly looked away, pretending to be reading the spines on a nearby shelf labelled _Complex Arithmancy_.

"Hello," said Harry.

The boy's ears went a little pink, and he looked back at Harry, "hello. I didn't mean to stare."

"It's alright," Harry replied, "are you looking for something?"

"Nah," said the boy. He sat down on the couch opposite Harry, "my Mum's looking for my brothers' school books. She could be a while."

He pretended to be very interested in a thesaurus someone had left sitting on the couch. Finally he said, very quickly, "how'd you get those scars? If you don't mind me asking. I mean," he trailed off.

"Oh," said Harry, his stomach sinking, "oh. Um. I got attacked by an animal when I was little. That's all."

"Wow," said the boy, abandoning the thesaurus, "all I got was freckles," he wrinkled his nose, "and they're not very impressive or anything."

"You think my scars are impressive?" Harry asked, very surprised.

"Yeah!" said the boy enthusiastically, "they're so cool! You look like one of those aurors or something. My name's Ron Weasley, by the way."

Harry felt a jolt of déjà vu, "Weasley. I think I met your brother once – Charlie. He had a broomstick. He saved my life."

"Really?" Ron rolled his eyes, "sounds more like Bill to me. What's your name?"

"Er," Harry's mind went blank for a moment, "Mark Evans," he said finally. This was a fake name he sometimes used with Sirius.

Ron laughed, "I can tell you're lying."

"Oh. How?"

"It's pretty obvious. Why do you need to make up your name?"

"Oh…it's a game I play, with my Dad. A competition."

Ron frowned but did not question this lie, "what's your real name?"

Harry paused. He had promised Sirius not to tell anyone his real name. But this boy couldn't do any harm – and Harry wanted very much to be friends, "it's Harry."

"Pleased to meet you, Harry," Ron replied, "have you already got all your schoolbooks?"

Harry looked at the stack of books on the table between them, "all my books for what?"

"For Hogwarts," said the red-haired boy, "you'd be starting this year, wouldn't you? I got my letter a few days ago. It's pretty exciting, huh?"

"I'm not going to Hogwarts," said Harry. He knew the school, or at least, had heard of it. Sirius never talked about it if he could help it.

"Not going to _Hogwarts_?" Ron gaped, "but where else would you go? You're not French, are you?" he raised one eyebrow as if being French was a terrible affliction.

"No," said Harry, "I just go to regular school. I'm learning magic at home."

Ron gave him a quizzical look, "how come?"

"I don't know. _Should_ I be going Hogwarts?"

The boy rolled his eyes, "of course! _All_ witches and wizards have to go to Hogwarts. I mean, you couldn't possibly learn any real magic at home. There's just too much to teach. I'm a bit worried, actually," he added, "I mean, my brother said you have to write essays for every subject every night."

Harry felt strangely dizzy, and put his hands on the couch to keep himself upright. It hadn't even occurred to him that there was anything unusual about being home schooled. He'd never considered any other option.

"Well, I'll be sorry not to see you there," Ron continued, apparently unaware of the shock churning inside his new acquaintance. He looked at Harry, "hey, you feeling alright?"

A middle-aged couple, both with luminous blonde hair and elegant silver and black robes, wandered by. The woman glanced distastefully at Ron and muttered to her husband, "you see, darling? That's the sort of thing Draco will have to endure at that beastly school! I _told_ you we should have enrolled him at Durmstrang."

Ron glared at the couple as they walked on out of the store, then turned back to Harry, but the distraction had given him a chance to compose himself. Ron began to ask him about whether he had been following the recent quidditch games. Harry did not know much about quidditch and Ron was delighted to be able to explain to him everything he needed to know about the game. They continued talking for almost half an hour until Ron's mother bustled over to take him on their next errand. She looked at Harry with a curious look on her face, as if she recognised him. As they left, Ron waved goodbye.

"You should write to me!" he called, "I'll tell you what Hogwarts is like!"

Harry waved in return, and then sunk into the couch, feeling muddled and unhappy.

------------------------------

Sirius had had no luck accessing his vault at Gringotts. He tried to tell the goblins that he was the owner of vault seven hundred and eleven, and that he didn't have his key but needed to take some money out anyway. The goblins would hear nothing of it. Eventually Sirius feared he was making a scene and gave up. As he left his eyes glanced over several posters promoting the Ministry of Magic and its 'homeland and household security'. Clearly, Sirius was rather behind the times. He decided the first thing to do was take out a subscription to the Daily Prophet, which he did as soon as he passed the wizarding newsagent store on his way

He had no choice now but to sell the things they had collected from Grimmauld Place. It was not affection that made him reluctant to trade the strange treasures, which he would rather have thrown away. He just didn't like selling anyone anything that might, and probably did, contain more than a trace of dark magic.

He turned down a side street and made his way to Knockturn Ally. He knew of a store, Borgin and Burkes, where they would be happy to buy any antique dark magic treasures, cash in the hand, no questions asked. He glanced around guiltily as he entered but walked out a few moments later with his bag a lot lighter and his wallet considerably heavier.

Harry was waiting for him when he reached Flourish and Blotts, only five minutes late. His godson seemed strangely subdued, but reminded Sirius at once that he owed him a wand. Sirius sighed and navigated through the rickety streets towards Ollivander's, the wand maker's shop.

They walked out almost an hour later, Harry carrying his new wand in a box under his arm. He walked with a spring in his step, clutching the box tightly as though afraid it would disappear out of his grasp. Sirius, had been put on edge by Ollivander's probing questions but was relieved the old man had not disputed the fake name Sirius had given him He walked in silence while Harry chattered on about all the things he had seen, declaring at least once that it was definitely his best birthday ever.

As they walked back from the train station to Grimmauld Place, however, and the glamour spell began to wear off, revealing their true appearances, Harry became subdued once more. Sirius, who sensed that his godson was anxious about something, asked Harry what was bothering him.

Harry's green eyes looked troubled, but he was very reluctant to answer and it took several more questions before he finally spoke his mind, "why can't I go to Hogwarts?" he asked bluntly.

Sirius had not expected this. He had been waiting for this question for seven years now, but had never prepared a satisfactory answer. He couldn't speak for several long seconds, finally he replied, "I'll be able to teach you magic."

"You can't teach me everything," Harry insisted, "and I…I wish I could meet other children. Not muggles. Witches and Wizards like me. I haven't got any friends at all. I always have to leave them behind every time we move. If I went to Hogwarts, we wouldn't have to move any more, I could make friends that I could keep…"

Sirius shook his head, "things are so difficult, because of your lycanthropy. I wouldn't be there to help you through your transformations. And, unfortunately, wizards have some terrible prejudices towards werewolves. The other parents might be afraid to have their children at school with a werewolf. It's awful, and it's unfair, but there's just no way around it."

Harry listened to this in silence as they walked on, turning from one thin avenue into Grimmauld Place. But, after a pause, he said quietly, "Moony did."

Sirius looked at him sharply, "what's that?"

"I said, Moony did. He went to school. With you and Dad. I know he did, he told me about it. And _he_ was a werewolf, just like me. I didn't know what it meant back then, but I know now."

Sirius kept his eyes straight ahead, "that is different."

"How is it different?"

Sirius could not answer this. Instead he said, "Remus found it very difficult. His transformations were very hard."

"And mine _aren't?_" Harry said loudly.

"And it was dangerous. Another student in our year almost lost his life to Remus because of…a cruel trick one boy played on him. It would be dangerous for you and everyone around you," he did not mention the potion Wolfsbane, which he did not doubt could be easily provided by a school such as Hogwarts.

"But we could take precautions. You know we could!" Harry glared at the pavement.

Sirius shook his head, "I said no."

They had reached the stone steps of number thirteen and Sirius unlocked the door and pushed it open. He looked back and saw that his godson was still standing on the path below, looking up at him with a betrayed expression on his face.

"It's nothing to do with me being a werewolf, is it?" shouted Harry, "everything – running, hiding all the time, lying about my name – it's not because I'm a werewolf at all! So what is it? What are you frightened off?"

"There is nothing," Sirius said in reply, and he realised that he, too, was shouting now, "I am just trying to protect you!"

"That's not fair!" Harry yelled, "I'm not a baby! You can't lie to me!"

"You don't – you can't begin to understand – why all this has happened!"

"Tell me!" Harry balled his fists, "I have to know!"

"You're not _ready_ to know!" Sirius bellowed.

Harry stared at him, without speaking, for several long moments. Sirius found he was breathing heavily, his head burning as if with a fever. He wanted to hit something, and it took all his strength to keep himself still.

Harry ran up the steps, pushed past his godfather and disappeared down the hall. Sirius stood on the threshold, listening to his footsteps fade up the stairs and then the bang of his godson's door slamming. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Then he went into the house and the door swung closed with a snap.

-----------------------------

TBC

A/N: So. That locket. Some people guessed what it was. The popular theory that I'm going with is: that the mysterious R.A.B (who took Voldemort's locket Horcrux, as we found out in HBP) is Regulus Black, Sirius' deceased death eater brother. In OotP, Harry and the others cleaning Grimmauld Place find "heavy locket none of them could open" (chapter six). The theory is that THIS LOCKET IS ONE OF VOLDEMORT'S HORCRXES, left at Grimmauld Place by Regulus before he died (if, indeed, he really is dead). This theory is supported by an interview with JKR in which she insinuated that one of the Horcruxes had already appeared in the books but not been identified, but some readers would be able to find it now we knew what to look out for.

I am integrating this theory into the story, though it will not have much relevance until the end of Part Two. I like the idea that Harry would instantly feel a connection towards the locket, as if the two pieces of Voldemort's soul were attracted to one another.


	5. News in the Burrow

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

-------------------------------------

"It's not fair!"

"Shut up!"

"You pig!"

"Ow! Stop it!"

"MUM!"

Molly Weasley, brandishing her wand in one hand and an armful of school robes in the other, marched into the bedroom with a face that could have proclaimed murder. Her two youngest children were locked in furious combat. Ron was pulling on his sister's plaits so hard he was almost lifting her off the ground, while Ginny was screaming (in rage, rather than pain) and twisting her brother's arm whilst digging her nails into his skin.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Molly dropped the robes and wrenched the two children apart. Ron and Ginny wriggled, each trying to take another swipe at their opponent.

"She's being so annoying!" Ron yelled, "she won't leave me alone!"

"He won't let me see his books! He's so selfish!" Ginny shrieked, "I just want to look!"

"I DON'T CARE," Mrs Weasley bellowed, "YOU WILL NOT START FIGHTS IN MY HOUSE! GINNY, GO TO YOUR ROOM! RON, YOU TOO!"

"We both share the same room," Ron pointed out, still glaring daggers at his sister.

"Then get downstairs this instant, before I throw you out the window!" his mother snarled. Ginny made a rude hand gesture behind her mother's back and scampered away. Ron picked up his books, followed his mother into the hall and stomped down the stairs, muttering curses under his breath. He flumped down onto the rug and began to return to his previous activity, which was taping the pages of the books back into their spines. They were all second-hand texts from his brothers, Fred and George, and considerably well-worn. Percy was sitting sideways on the armchair not far away, scribbling on a piece of parchment. He looked at Ron in irritation, but Ron's mutinous expression warned him not to say anything.

A few minutes later, a small alarm clock on the mantelpiece began to squeal in a high-pitched voice, "VISITOR!" it shrieked, "VISITOR! NO DARK MAGIC DETECTED! VISITOR!"

Mrs Weasley could be heard fuming loudly as she went to answer the door. However, her tone changed abruptly to one of welcome as she opened it.

"Come in, come in dear," Mrs Weasley said, "did you want a drink? I'm just trying to get the hems done in these robes but I think there's some tea in the kettle."

"That's alright, Molly," a cheery voice replied, "I just popped over to see Charlie."

"He'll be back in a few minutes," Mrs Weasley replied, "now, I really must get these done, dear, if you'll excuse me…"

Her footsteps receded, and Ron looked up to see Nymphadora Tonks standing in the doorway, grinning with her hands the pockets of her violently purple jeans. Her hair was shorter than ever and coloured a glittering silver like strands of stars.

"Wotcher, Ron," she said, "where's Charlie?"

"Ministry," grunted Ron, his tongue between his teeth as he carefully laid another piece of tape on a rip in his textbook, "still trying to get another permit."

"Okay," Tonks dropped herself onto the sagging couch and lay on her stomach, her elbows propped up on the ends and her chin resting on her knuckles. She was staring at Percy with a cheeky look on her face. He was ignoring her with great determination.

"Writing a novel?" she asked finally.

Percy glanced at her and Tonks crowed in triumph, "gotcha!" She had been trying to make the younger boy look at her. Percy had long gotten over his crush for Tonks, but she had yet to cease teasing him about it. Percy always acted as if he had never met anything more frustrating than Nymphadora Tonks: yet he always became strangely jolly as soon as he heard she was coming over to visit.

"I am _trying_ to revise my arithmancy before the new term," Percy said with a sniff.

"Oh, come on Perce, you don't start for another two weeks," Tonks grinned, "lighten up a bit. Got any news about Bill and Iolanthe? He knocked her up yet?"

Iolanthe was Bill's girlfriend, "Not as far as we know," Percy said seriously.

"But it won't be long now," said Charlie from the doorway. He pulled off his cloak, dumped it on the banister and dropped onto the couch on top of Tonks legs.

"Ouch! You lump," Tonks wriggled out from under him and then proceeded to drape her legs over his as if he were a footrest, "any luck with the permit?"

Charlie shook his head, and Tonks' smile drooped.

Getting a permit to leave England was a constant topic of whispered conversation in the Weasley household. Ron did not quite understand the process himself. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic did not like wizards and witches leaving Britain and going to live in other countries, and so a few years ago they had brought in a visa system. It meant you needed a permit in order to travel out of the England. If you got caught trying to leave the country without one (and the borders were heavily guarded) you could be sent to Azkaban for over a year. As far as Ron could gather, it seemed the Ministry had gotten the idea that everyone was trying to leave England to get away from you-know-who, and they had decided if they didn't put a stop to it, there wouldn't be anyone left to support their side of the war.

Charlie, who had finished his course studying dragons and had been an offered a job in Romania, but the Ministry had so far refused to give him a permit. He had to keep going back to reapply until they relented. Bill had managed to get a visa to go to France with his girlfriend Iolanthe, where he was studying curse breaking, and Molly and Arthur hoped that if Charlie and Percy got permits as well, the ministry would allow the rest of the family to go and live with them. They no longer felt it was safe to remain in England, with the rumours of war growing every day, and wanted the whole family to leave as soon as possible. So far, however, the Ministry was quite determined that families like the Weasleys would not sneak under their radar.

"Ah, well," said Tonks tipping her head back with a sigh, "I suppose I'd miss you anyway."

Ron stopped paying attention as the conversation turned to gossip about friends and celebrities. He was just sticking the final pages into his Charms textbook when he heard the door open again and his father appeared in the kitchen, looking weary. Arthur Weasley was working as an enchanter for the defence department of the Ministry. He had lost his job in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office after the attacks on the Ministry seven years ago, but with his extensive knowledge of charming muggle objects, he had been offered a new job designing weapons for the use in the war. Mr Weasley disliked the work intensely, but there were so few jobs nowadays, he could not refuse the money. And even if he had tried to resign, the Ministry might well have forced him to continue his work, because, as their posters said, '_every wizard must do his part for the war effort!'_

"Hello, dear," Molly hugged her husband and set the kettle boiling again, "any problems today?"

"Apart from those violins that seem to be repelling magic," Mr Weasley shrugged, "nothing we couldn't handle. How are you, darling?" he kissed her on the cheek.

"There's been a letter from Bill," said Molly, pulling the folded parchment out of her apron pocket. She had clearly been carrying it around with her all day, "we have to write back at once, Arthur. He says he and Iolanthe are going to some pro-werewolf rally to protest the French Ministry's new restrictions."

Mr Weasley poured himself a cup of tea and sat down at the table, "well, that's alright, isn't it? It will just be one of those student protests. Nothing dangerous."

Mrs Weasley looked exasperated, "Arthur, he's going to lose his permit if he's not careful! The French Ministry isn't exactly going to take kindly to that kind of protest, and they _love_ any excuse to deport students!"

Arthur shook his head, "they can't take away his permit for marching down the street," he said, "besides, it's good that he's taking an interest in this sort of thing."

"But he's going to lose his job! Honestly, that boy is far too careless with these ridiculous ideals of his. It's not as if what the French Ministry does is of any concern of his. And just listen to this letter, going on about the government blowing the issue out of proportion – he seems oblivious to fact that werewolf attacks have doubled in the last six months."

"So the _Daily Prophet_ tells us," Arthur replied dryly, sipping his tea, "and personally, I think he's right, even Minister Moody is getting caught up in the anti-werewolf feeling. But really, Molly, there's nothing we can do from here. Write whatever you like, he'll still go, and if he gets in a bit of trouble, well, he's not a child. He'll get himself out of it."

Molly huffed and clicked her tongue, "well, if he wants to spoil his future, so be it. I can't stop him."

Ron listened with only half an ear. His mother and father were always arguing about politics. If it wasn't werewolf rights, it was Ministry propaganda in the newspapers, and if it wasn't Ministry propaganda, it was the protection of muggle-borns, and if wasn't muggle-borns, it was something else.

"…and you remember old Hagrid, the groundkeeper at school? I heard he got in trouble because they reckoned he had giant blood. Dumbledore had to step in to get him out of it," Tonks was telling Charlie.

"Well, I wouldn't be surprise if he _did_ have giant blood. The man's as big as a house," Charlie replied.

The name Hagrid made Ron remember his trip to Diagon Alley, "I met a boy yesterday who said he knew you from ages ago," he said idly, pressing the last of the tape down.

Charlie looked over at him, "what, at Diagon Alley?"

"Yeah. He said you saved his life, when he was just a little kid," Ron looked at his brother, who was trying to get a splinter out of Tonks' finger, "he talked about you having a broomstick. He said his name was Harry."

Charlie and Tonks both looked at Ron.

"He said his name was what?" Tonks whispered faintly.

"Harry," repeated Ron, "do you remember him?"

The two teenagers looked at one another, then back at Ron, surprise spreading across their faces, "what did he look like?" Charlie asked, "was he about your age? Did he have glasses?"

"And a little scar on his forehead?" Tonks added.

Ron nodded to all three questions, "he had scars all over. Around his right eye."

Charlie put his hand to his mouth, "gee-zus," he swore quietly.

Tonks looked as if she had just passed her Auror examinations: disbelieving but thrilled, "it can't be. Professor Lupin always – I mean, we thought – he gave the pretty distinct impression that he was dead!"

Charlie lowered his hands, "scars. On his face…oh, man, I thought they'd be able to heal him…oh, Harry, you poor kid."

Tonks and Ron both looked at him, "what do you mean?" Ron asked.

Charlie shook his head, "it's too awful. I had him in my arms, and his face…there was just so much blood, it looked…no, it was too awful, I can't even think it."

Tonks began to bounce up and down, "if he's alive, Charlie, we have to go find him! We have to find out what happened!"

Charlie raised any eyebrow, "he probably doesn't even remember us. And maybe there's a good reason Lupin never told us what happened. I mean, Harry – he must have gotten infected. Maybe he was taken away because he was a werewolf."

Tonks shook Charlies arm demandingly, "please, Charlie, I don't want to go snooping all by myself!"

Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes, "alright. Ron, did he tell you where he was living?"

Ron shook his head, "no. All he told me was that he was with his dad."

Tonks frowned, "that's not right. His parents are dead. That's how we met him in the first place. Unless…" her eyes widened, "Sirius! Charlie, my mum's cousin Sirius! He disappeared just after the ministry was attacked – but he was the one who sent Harry to Mum in the first place! She always said he was dead…oh, it's got to be him who's taking care of Harry," she began to grin, "do you think he kidnapped him? Do you think maybe he's working for you-know-who? Or maybe…"

"Sounds like you've already worked it all out," grumbled Charlie, "what do you need my help for?"

They continued to discuss the possibilities even once Ron had finished repairing his schoolbooks and gone upstairs. He dumped the books on the end of his bed and sat down, lost in thought. He was remembering the scarred face of the boy and wondering if he, too, had not seen him somewhere. He thought of seven years ago, when Dad had lost his job, and Charlie and Bill had gone missing when the Hogwarts train was attacked. Hadn't there been a boy who had come home with Charlie – a dark-haired boy with a sad face and a lonely smile? Ron could almost remember him…

Ron shrugged and headed back downstairs. Whoever the boy was, it wasn't anything to do with him, and Ron was too excited about Hogwarts to think about strangers from the past. Charlie and Tonks could do that for him.

------------------------------------

TBC


	6. The Rally in Paris

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

------------------------------

Bill Weasley felt a thrill run through him as he took in his surroundings. He was standing on a wide Parisian street, flanked by almost two hundred other witches and wizards, and the air was electric with the excitement that was building as the crowd marched. They were here to protest the French Ministry of Magic's new legislation on werewolves, and they didn't care who saw them – wizards, muggles, or otherwise.

The French Ministry was very concerned about this recklessness. Despite long negotiations, the organisers of the protest, the French pro-werewolf group that called itself LUNAR (_Lycanthropes Unifiez le Nerf Actionner pour la Reconnaissance)_, had refused to hold the protest in one of the tiny all-wizard magical shopping districts. Instead, they were marching on a public Paris street, in front of every bemused muggle they passed.

And there was plenty to see. Huge banners, many bewitched to flash bright colours or to move and change their words, were hoisted above the heads of the crowd. They bore slogans such as "MY BEST FRIEND IS A WEREWOLF!", "SAVAGERY – IN THE PAW OF THE BEHOLDER" and "DON'T JUDGE ME BY MOONLIGHT!" Placards with the symbols of pro-werewolf groups were held high and waved back and forth, and many of the protesters were wearing shirts or badges with the French word _MARQUE_ crossed out by a vicious red slash.

"Come on, Bill!" Iolanthe grabbed his hand and dragged him into the crowd, her dark curls bobbing eagerly. It was she that had convinced Bill to come to this rally. Iolanthe had always stood up for the underdog and she loved a good cause, or anything she could rebel against. It was just another thing the love-struck Weasley adored about his girlfriend. Iolanthe was a head shorter than Bill, and she was rather buxom young lady with a wide smile and a hawk-like nose. For the occasion, she had bewitched herself a T-Shirt that glittered with the thick black words FUR FRIEND. Bill draped one arm around her as she raised her fist and began to sing with the crowd.

The English speakers in the march were calling, "NO ROPE FOR THE LYCANTHROPE!", a swelling, roaring chant that rolled over the bystanders and flowed ahead of the marchers to their destination, a large square where a podium had been erected. This chant was almost overwhelmed by the chorus of "Vous êtes fou!" from the French werewolf supporters. One girl, dressed in a lime green cloak with the words I LOVE LYCANTHROPY! Embroidered across the back, sat on her friend's shoulders, waving a flag upon which was written "HEY! YOU'RE A CARNIVORE TOO!"

At last, the growing crowd reached the square and gathered around the podium. A woman dressed in scarlet and gold robes was standing in front of a magical microphone, shooting sparks into the air to get attention. Officials from the French Ministry were desperately rushing back and forth, trying to convince the crowd to stop the spells and charms being performed in broad daylight. At last, the chanting faded away and the woman on the podium began to speak.

"Thank you all," she called in a heavy French accent, "eet fills my 'eart wiz joy to see so many passionate witches and wizards 'oo 'ave arrived today to support our cause. My name ees Anne Laurent and I am ze leader of Wives of Werewolves United," at her words, screams and cheers broke out from a cluster at the back who were waving flags with WWU printed on them. Anne Laurent raised her hand and there was silence once more, "but truly, a more accurate name would be ze Widows of Werewolves," she said to the still crowd, "for so many good women 'ave lost zere good 'usbands, sons and brothers, and so many kind men 'ave lost wives, sisters and daughters, to ze prejudice that 'as saturated our society, our 'omes, and even our Ministry, which in its blind corruption seeks to cast out ze innocent werewolves…"

She went on for several more minutes, switching to French each time she finished a paragraph in English, her speech occasionally punctuated by more cheers and flag-waving. Iolanthe cheered loudest of all, waving her arms since she had no flag.

"…but for now I will concede the stand to Mallory Algernon, ze prezident of PAWR, the People Against Werewolf Repression, who 'as travelled from London today to speak to us…" Anne Laurent joined in the clapping as a blue-robed man stepped up to the microphone. A group of young students at the front raised an enormous banner that half-blocked Bill's view. It had a picture of a sad-looking young man with a chain around his neck printed below the words "WHO'S THE ANIMAL NOW?"

"Thank you, thank you," Algernon waved down the ministry officials who were trying to restrain the flag-bearers, "it is a pleasure to be here today to support the French Werewolf community in their time of need. Most of you will remember my brother, Kyle, a man who was openly proud of his lycanthropy. Six years ago he was cursed to death by a crowd of witches and wizards who believed he was behind the mauling of a young girl who, it turned out, had been attacked by a common grindylow. Kyle was eighteen years old when he died – and I am here today to try and prevent the deaths of other young werewolves who already live in terror of discovery. If the French Ministry goes through with its plans to brand these blameless brothers and sisters…"

Algernon talked about the Ministry's intentions and about public ignorance for another few minutes. Interested though he was, Bill couldn't help being distracted by the colourful supporters around him. He saw that another crowd, a mix of interested wizards and curious muggles, was forming across the square, while the ministry officials tried to convince them to move one. A fight seemed to have broken out between one official and a heavy-set man brandishing his wand in a porky fist.

"Look," Bill nudged Iolanthe and she frowned as the heavy-set man pushed the official roughly aside and made a beeline for the podium. His face was full of grim resolve. When he reached the podium, a few protesters tried to stand in his way, but he fired a shower of black smoke into the air with a sound like a gunshot and suddenly all eyes, even Algernon's, were on him.

The man elbowed his way up to where Algernon stood and shoved him aside. Algernon grabbed the microphone and pulled it out of the man's reach, but the man had magically magnified his voice with a _sonorus _charm and he began to bellow out across the crowd.

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves!" he roared, as the crowd began to rumble and sway in anger, "every one of these beasts, these monsters, should be put to the axe, and you fools are trying to _help_ them?" he was English, but his voice sounded slurred, as if he was slightly drunk, "I ask you, where were was your help when a werewolf killed my Cosette? You should be ashamed!"

Bill's grip on Iolanthe's arm tightened, "we've got to do something," he muttered, "this guy is about to lose it."

Apparently Anne Laurent was thinking the same thing. She put her hand on the man's shoulder and said something to him in a warning tone, drawing her wand as she did so. The man paused, then suddenly twisted, grabbed the French woman's arm and before she could cast a spell, he had hurled her off the podium and into the crowd. A roar broke out as the protesters surged forwards, murder in their eyes.

Then the man raised his wand, cried a curse, and chaos broke out.

----------------------------------

Afterwards, Bill could not quite make sense of what happened. He could remember screams – whose screams, he could never quite figure out – and he clutched Iolanthe's hand as the crowd was ripped apart. Most of the protesters seemed to be dropping their placards and banners and fleeing, while the rest of them were clambering onto the podium, many with wands drawn, to try and subdue the man. As the crowd began to clear a little, Bill suddenly saw what had caused the panic.

The curse the man had loosed had cut a wide swath through the crowd, and people who had been caught in the blast lay where they had fallen. There was blood spilled across the tarseal of the road and the sharp smell of burning in the air. Bill and Iolanthe were pushed back and forth in the stampede, and her hand was torn out of his grip as he stared in horror at the bodies spread in front of the podium. Then he saw her swept away, across the road towards the shocked bystanders who were milling in panic.

Bill drew his wand and plunged after Iolanthe. He suddenly heard another rumble and turned to see flame engulf the podium, sending people flying. The man emerged through the smoke, and bent almost double he crashed forward, but he was still on his feet. People fled before him, or crouched to try and protect the wounded who lay around him. The man, who seemed to be half-stunned, ran in the only clear direction, which was towards the swaying crowd of muggles and wizard bystanders.

Bill looked back at the crowd. The ministry officials were trying to force the people back so that the man's path would be clear, while more officials drew their wands, trying to get a clear shot at him without hitting the crowd. Still more officials were rounding up protestors and stunning them where they stood, but Bill did not pay attention to this strange action.

There was only one person left between the man and the line of ministry officials holding back the crowd. It was a little girl in short blue robes who had tripped and was lying on her side, raising herself onto one arm and blinking in confusion, shaking her blonde head and crying out in French. Bill saw the man blundering towards her, wand still raised, and sprinted to head him off. He reached the fallen girl before the maddened wizard and lifted her right off her feet. He turned and stumbled backwards as the man barrelled towards him, and then dashed for the safety of the crowd. A young, silver-haired woman struggling to get past a ministry official shrieked at him, "Gabrielle! Gabrielle!" her arms were outstretched.

Bill realised she wanted the little girl and ran towards her. He pressed the child into her welcoming arms and briefly took in the relief that was glowing on her beautiful face before he heard the man shout. Bill turned and saw, through a gap in the crowd, Iolanthe with her arm raised, waving to him.

And then there was a _whoosh_ like water rushing through a pipe and the madman let loose another huge blast from his wand. Everything in front of him was engulfed in a wave of scorching magic.

Bill was knocked to the ground and his vision went black for the briefest moment. When he opened his eyes he scrambled to his feet, but his ears were full of ringing and he couldn't walk straight. People were fleeing in all directions and the madman was lying face-down, not moving. Then Bill saw Iolanthe.

She lay on her back, surrounded by the living or dead bodies of other bystanders, one arm stretched out as if still reaching for him. Her eyes were blinking and she shuddered, once, but there was blood spreading across her shirt and something had happened to her legs that he couldn't look at. He found he was running towards her, shouting.

Something hit him in the back and he fell so hard he nearly passed out again. A ministry official had fired his wand at him and suddenly ropes were wrapping around Bill's wrists, forcing his hands behind his back. Officials were swarming everywhere, yelling to each other, and one of them grabbed Bill's ponytail and forced him to stay down.

"You're under arrest," the official was shouting in French, which Bill did not speak fluently, "for participating in a violent gathering and the use of magic in front of muggles."

"Let me go!" he yelled, trying to buck the man off, but he was so dizzy and weak from the blast he could only struggle lamely, "she's hurt! Let me go!"

Nobody could hear him over all the screams and shouts. He watched Iolanthe shudder again, and her head tilted a little to look at him. He could see her breath coming in tiny gulps and blood flecking her lips. Another protester next to him was forcibly subdued but Bill did not even turn his head. He watched as his Iolanthe stopped shivering and lay still, her eyes half-open.

Someone was pulling him to his feet and marching him away, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Amongst all the panic and the shouts, all the people running back and forth, Iolanthe lay still and did not move, one arm still stretched out towards him.

"You idiots!" the protester who had been arrested next to Bill was shouting, and Bill realised the young wizard was English and looked vaguely familiar, "people are hurt! They need help – why are you bothering with us? People are wounded!" he had brown hair flecked with grey, and a kind face that was twisted in fury as he struggled with the official that was holding him, "let us help them! They're wounded!"

Another of the ministry men slapped the young protester so hard Bill saw blood burst from a split lip, "shut up, werewolf," he snarled, and then began to order his men in French, "take them away. All of the protestors you can find. They have brought this about, now they will pay for it."

-------------------------------------------

TBC

Very Bad French Translations (because I don't speak French, so feel free to correct me!):

_Lycanthropes Unifiez le Nerf Actionner pour la Reconnaissance (LUNAR):_ This translates, very roughly, very badly, to "Werewolves Unite the Spirit (as in stamina, strength) to Work for Recognition".

_Marque_: this is the only word I could find that means "Brand" (as in mark) but in French it is used mostly for a company brand, or a trademark, or a score, and the dictionary went on to say it often means "high-class" or "distiguished", which, or course, fits the story not at all.

_Vous êtes fou:_ I know this one is correct. It just means "You are being fools!" or "You are crazy!" since, after the LUNAR translation debacle, I didn't have the heart to think up a clever French chant for the protestors.

I guess, all in all, I should just have set this chapter in Japan, because at least I can speak Japanese and I know how to write a Japanese accent. Ah well, that's the way it goes. Lay your criticisms on me. Go ahead, I can take 'em.


	7. Je veux parler au sujet de Remus Lupin

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

---------------------------------

Harry and Sirius did not speak to each other for two days. Harry thought this was a very childish way for his godfather to act, but then he remembered how angry he was and decided he didn't care. If Sirius refused to tell him the truth, Sirius could just go and sulk until he relented. Harry was _certainly_ not going to apologise.

Sirius knew he was sulking, and that he was being childish, but he decided he didn't care. His godson was too young to understand that Sirius was only acting in Harry's best interests. If Harry wanted to ignore Sirius for the rest of the week, well, that was just fine. Sirius was _certainly_ not going to relent.

Harry sat in his bedroom, reading books and talking to the empty picture frame that hung on his wall. Sometimes he heard Sirius' footsteps coming up the hall and stopping outside his door, and waited hopefully for Sirius to come in and talk to him, but the footsteps always went away again. Sometimes Harry rushed to the door and flung it open, ready to bellow his apologies at his godfather, but Sirius had already vanished. Often there was a tray of lunch sitting outside the door, carefully prepared. Harry always ate the food and left the tray in the corridor.

Sirius roamed the halls of the house, looking for things to clean and glaring at Kreacher whenever he crossed his path. Sometimes he found himself walking past Harry's door without meaning to be there. He would pause, put his ear to the door and listen to make sure his godson was still alive in there. His hand would rest on the doorknob, and he had to tear himself away, determined not make the first move. Instead, fearing that Harry would starve himself before he would come out of his room, Sirius left trays of food outside his door, with a repelling spell to stop Kreacher nibbling the crusts off the sandwiches. He would pick up the empty tray later on.

This would probably have gone on for the rest of the month, if not for the owl in the chimney. It happened on the third morning of not-speaking-to-each-other. Harry finally gave in to his craving for a hot breakfast and slipped down to the kitchen to make himself eggs and toast. He was certain it was too early for Sirius to be up, and he was right. The kitchen was empty and the pantry full, and Harry settled himself down to a proper meal.

His ears were pricked for any sound of his godfather coming down the stairs, so he heard the clanking and the squawking at once. Something was trapped in the chimney of the big iron stove, and it sounded as if the chimney might well be digesting it. Harry leapt to his feet and located the hatch that opened the pipe for cleaning. He threw it wide open and out fell a battered, soot-covered owl, which lay on its back on the stove and shrieked angrily. There was a newspaper attached to its leg.

As soon as Harry took the newspaper, the owl jumped up and began to peck him. He realised it wanted to be paid, but he didn't have so much a knut to give it, so he tied one of the expensive silver spoons to its leg and released it back up the chimney. Its hooting echoed down to him as it flew upwards and disappeared. Then Harry took the paper back to the table and unfolded it.

He was very excited to see that the photographs were moving. It was a wizarding paper, with the heading _The Daily Prophet_ written along the top in curly letters. Harry had never seen a wizarding paper before, but he realised that Sirius must have taken out a subscription while they were in Diagon Alley. He flattened the paper and began to read eagerly. His face fell as he took in the front page story, and his stomach twisted.

WEREWOLVES ATTACK RALLY 

_Wizards and witches across France were in mourning yesterday as the magical community in Paris began to count its dead after a horrific attack on bystanders by a crowd of anti-Ministry protestors._

_The protestors, who were marching against the Ministry's new werewolf registration program, were headed off by brave Ministry officials who tried to prevent their reckless display of magic in front of a street full of muggles. However, a fight broke out when Mallory Algernon, the leader of PAWR (People Against Werewolf Restraint) took the stand and began to encourage the protestors to rise up against the Ministry. A number of werewolves in the midst of the protesters turned on the crowd of muggle and wizard bystanders, letting loose a series of blasts that killed or injured over forty people. The full death toll is not yet known, but is estimated at ten wizards and at least eight muggles. Algernon is today being questioned about his involvement in the attack._

_The French Ministry hopes that this disgusting display of hypocrisy by the werewolf supporters will help the decent wizards and witches of France see the need for their new lycanthropy registration program. Minister Moody today released a statement saying that he is already looking at a similar law for English werewolves, which could be put forward to the Wizengamot by the end of the year…_

Harry realised his hands were shaking. He felt angry and sick at the same time. Was _this_ what was happening in the world? Was this why Sirius wanted to keep him away from other wizards – because he was afraid Harry would turn out like these other werewolves?

_It can't be true!_ Harry thought, reading through the start of article again, _I'm not like that, I know I'm not – why would other werewolves be so different from me?_ He shook his head and turned the page.

The article continued on pages two and three, complete with several large photographs, one of Algernon standing on a podium, of the French Minister visiting injured wizards in hospital, and of a jail cell where several sombre-looking faces peered out at the camera. The caption of the last photo read, _"Werewolf supporters arrested after the attack remained in custody yesterday. The French Ministry say they will continue to hold any protestor they suspect of being a werewolf until the next full moon, in three weeks' time._

Harry looked at the photo again, wondering if any of the gloomy faces looking out at him really were werewolves. How terrified they must be, awaiting the full moon with even more dread than usual, and with no knowledge of what might happen to them after that.

One man, slumped against the back of the jail cell, was looking straight at him, and Harry felt a frown crease his forehead. He knew that man. The face was a little older, the hair a little longer, but Harry felt a thrill of recognition.

"Moony," he whispered.

He jumped up, snatching the paper off the table, and bolted for the stairs. As he scrambled down the corridor towards his godfather's room, nearly tripping over Kreacher, who was loitering in the entrance hall, he began to yell, "Sirius! Sirius, get up! We have to go to France!"

As he reached the end of the hall, the door to Sirius' room was thrown open and Harry's godfather leaned out, looking bleary-eyed with his unbound hair falling across his face, "What?" he said sleepily, trying to pull on his trousers and button up his robes at the same time, "what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did you say Kreacher stole your pants?"

"No, no, I said we have to go to _France!_" Harry waved the paper and resisted the urge to jump up and down at the same time.

Sirius relaxed and rubbed his eyes, "why?"

"Look at this," Harry thrust the paper at Sirius and followed his godfather into the bedroom. Sirius, still trying to focus his eyes after his sudden awakening, sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the paper, "you've got it upside down," Harry said impatiently, turning the newspaper the right way up, "read it!"

"Oh, that's better," Sirius finally focussed on the paper and began to read. His face grew puzzled, and then stormy, and then furious, "what is this?" he muttered, "I thought it was People Against Werewolf _Repression_, not Restraint. And why would any werewolf do something this stupid?"

Harry turned the page for him and stabbed his finger at the photograph of the jail cell, "look! Look, this man here!"

Sirius looked. His eyes widened. He raised his head to look at Harry.

"We have to go to France," said his godson, "now. We have to get him out of there."

Sirius rubbed his head, "Harry, how are we going to get to Paris? The Ministry watches all the borders. You can't get out of the country without special permits and things."

"You were an auror," Harry crossed his arms, "you know secret ways out of the country. I _know_ you do. You could apparate us there in ten seconds if you wanted to."

Sirius waved his hand at the photograph, "even if we could get there, how can we help him? Do you think they'll let him out if we ask them nicely?"

"Sirius!" Harry looked exasperated, "did you even _read_ this? They're holding them until the next full moon! Don't you see? If they _have_ caught any real werewolves, they're going to blame _them_ for the attack on the rally. They're just using the attack as an excuse to get rid of as many werewolves as possible – what do you think they'll do to them? A slap on the wrist and a warning? If they don't kill them, they'll imprison them for life!" Harry's voice rose into a squeak at the end of the sentence.

"Harry, you don't understand how dangerous this would be…"

"Stop saying that!" Harry fumed, "stop saying I don't understand! There's only _one_ thing I don't understand – how can you just sit here and argue with me? He's your friend, Sirius! We _have_ to help him!"

Sirius blinked. He looked as if he was about to make another damning retort, then he shook his head, "you're right," he said, "what am I thinking? We're not going to just leave him there. Grab yourself a cloak, Harry, we're going to France."

"Really?" Harry looked surprised that Sirius had conceded so quickly.

"Really," his godfather replied, "Remus Lupin needs us, and I'll be a Death Eater before I'll abandon a friend in trouble."

------------------------------------

Sirius knew his way to the Paris Ministry from previous visits while he had been working as an auror. But even once they were inside the Ministry, convincing anyone to take them to the prisons was quite another matter. The man at the reception did not seem to speak a single word of English, and it took ten minutes for Sirius to convince him to go and find someone who did. At last, a young woman with red hair appeared and lead them around the corner to talk to them.

"My name is Carrié," she said, "Is it a permit you are looking for? I'm sorry, I do not understand."

"No, no, we've come for a man whom you're holding in your prison," Sirius explained, "he was arrested on baseless charges three days ago and we've come to take him home."

Carrié frowned, "you are talking about one of the anti-ministry protestors. I'm sorry, they will not be released until we are satisfied they are not guilty of causing this awful tragedy."

"You mean, until you're sure they're not werewolves," said Harry furiously, and Carrié turned to look at him, "well, he's _not_ a werewolf," Harry snapped, "he's a British wizard who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you have not right to hold him here when you know perfectly well he had nothing to do with the attack!"

"I assure you, young man, we have every reason to hold these protestors," Carrié replied, "they have proved themselves to be disorderly and violent and they are a danger to those around him."

"Now, look here," said Harry, clenching his fist and raising his head proudly so that his scars were glaring the young woman in the face, "this man is my Uncle. His name is Remus Lupin and he is a schoolteacher at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Sirius stared at his godson, wondering how Harry knew this, "he is not a werewolf any more than _I_ am a werewolf, and he is _certainly_ not a danger to anyone. And keeping him in your prison is nothing more than a waste of space!"

Carrié seemed taken aback. She muttered for a moment about pushy English children, then said stiffly, "I'm sorry, but I cannot help you. Only the prison coordinator can release prisoners. You should both go home and come back after the full moon, once we know for sure your friend is not a werewolf."

"Then take us to this prison coordinator," Sirius growled, "and we will talk to _him._"

---------------------------------

The prison coordinator was a glum-looking wizard with an enormous moustache. He listened to Sirius and Harry for a few minutes, then linked his fingers together, leaned back in his chair and said in a heavy French accent, "I'm sorry, but eet cannot be done."

"Why _not?_" Harry demanded, putting both his hands on the desk, "how can it be legal to hold a man in prison on suspicion of being a _werewolf_?"

The prison coordinator shook his head, "I cannot be done," he repeated, "I am sorry," he did not sound sorry at all, "Carrié, please take zese two back to reception."

He looked around. Carrié was nowhere in sight. The prison coordinator muttered something rude in French and got to his feet, "where 'as she gone?"

Suddenly the red-haired Carrié reappeared in the doorway, "_Je suis désolé, monsieur_, but there are two more people to see you. They – er – they also are looking for this man, Remus Lupin," she was suddenly pushed out of the way by what looked like an angry, flaming meteor.

It was a young woman wearing denim robes and with short, spiky hair that flashed from dark scarlet to fiery orange with each step, "sir, I demand you release Professor Lupin at once," she cried, striding past Harry and Sirius and thumping down a piece of parchment onto the prison coordinator's desk. She was followed by a stout, freckly young man who looked no less vexatious. He folded his arms and stood behind the woman, who was pointing at the parchment with a look of commanding respect on her face, "this is a letter from Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He has sent us with the urgent request that you release his Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at once. Your ridiculous suspicions are totally baseless."

The prison coordinator seemed very surprised. But after a moment he blew through his moustache and leaned forward, glowering, "now, look 'ere," he said, "I weell not be bullied by some old fool an 'is letters."

"It would be in your interests to do as Professor Dumbledore requests," the woman drew herself up, "he has many contacts in the English Ministry of Magic. He is also very good friends with Minister Alastor Moody. My name is Nymphadora Tonks and I am an auror, second in command under Minister Moody. My companion is Charlie Weasley, whose father runs the department of defence in the ministry."

Harry stared at the woman, "_Tonks?_" he gaped, "Tonks! Do you remember me?"

Tonks swung her glare in his direction, and her fury vanished, "good lord!" she said, and threw her arms around Harry, "Harry! What are you doing _here?_ I never thought I'd see you again, you little beast!" she looked up at Sirius, "Wotcher, cousin! I _knew_ you weren't working for Death Eaters. I suppose you're here for the same reason we are?"

"Of course," said Harry, and both he and Tonks turned back to the prison coordinator, who looked furious that his foes had just allied themselves against him.

"Look, you may shout at me all you like!" he glared, "but I weell not release any of zose traitorous protestors before ze full moon, and zat is final!"

Harry, Tonks, Charlie and Sirius all began to speak at once, but the prison coordinator put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, "I weell not leesten to any of you any longer!" he cried, "all of you, geet out of my office!"

"_Excusez moi, monsieur_," said a voice from the door, and everyone turned to see the most beautiful young lady enter the room, her long silver hair flowing freely over her shoulders. Behind her stood a tall, freckled man with a red ponytail.

"Bill!" Charlie yelped, and grabbed his brother's hand, "you're alright! Mum's so worried, your letter didn't say anything about the attack…"

"Shush, Charlie," Bill put his finger to his lips, "Fleur is doing her thing."

Charlie turned and realised all eyes were on the silver-haired beauty standing in front of the prison coordinator's desk, sweeping her shining locks away from her face.

"_Je veux vou dire en Remus Lupin_," she said haughtily. Everybody in the room was watching in silence, holding their breath.

The prison coordinator made a blustering noise. Fleur continued to look down her perfectly-shaped nose at him. He blushed red and his hands began to fiddle with the ring on his finger. Harry, young though he was, could feel a kind of aura spreading out of the strange girl, demanding every male in the room keep his eyes on her.

The prison coordinator said something in French. Fleur replied silkily. The prison coordinator said something that sounded angry and embarrassed. Fleur tipped her head to one side and spoke, softly and coldly, for almost a minute, while everyone watched with their hearts thumping in their chests.

"Carrié," the prison coordinator tried to snap his fingers but there was just a sort of soft click, "please go down to ze prisons and escort Monsieur Lupin to my office. Tell heem he is free to go."

"But, sir-" began Carrié.

"_Now,_ Carrié," said the prison coordinator. He got to his feet, "I must go and geet a glass of water. Madame_, je suis_," he gave a sort of lopsided bow to Fleur and fled the room.

Tonks threw her hands in the air and whooped, "we did it!"

"_We_ didn't do nothing," Charlie laughed, kissing Tonks on the cheek and sitting down on the desk, "my brother has some powerful friends."

Tonks, grinning, her hair a glorious bubble-gum pink colour, sat down next to Charlie, knocking the prison coordinator's pencil case to the floor, and cocked her head at Harry, "and _you!_" she said.

Charlie nudged her to be quiet. He was looking at Bill. The oldest Weasley brother was standing in front of the gorgeous Fleur, holding her white hands in his own brown ones, speaking quietly to her. She replied, "zen I will persist!"

"Bill?" Charlie asked softly, and Bill turned to look at his brother, "Bill, where is Iolanthe?"

Bill looked away, and Harry realised he was blinking back tears. After a moment he said, "she's was hurt in the rally. I…I watched her die."

Silence rang through the room. Tonks put her hand to her mouth. When she had been younger and she had spent summer holidays at the Burrow with Charlie, she had idolised the fiercely spirited Iolanthe who often came to visit Bill.

Charlie looked at his lap, "it wasn't werewolves that attacked the rally. That was just a lie the _Prophet_ made up."

Bill nodded, "they arrested everyone they thought might be a werewolf. Professor Lupin and I were brought in together, and he helped me after Iolanthe died…I mean, he just talked to me. I needed someone to talk to. Then they let me go, and I had to leave him behind. I asked Fleur to come back with me to help him."

"They let you go?" Charlie frowned, and looked at Fleur, "I don't get it. What does _she_ have to do with all this?"

Fleur tossed her mane of silver hair into the air, "Bill 'as saved my seester from ze man 'oo attacked ze protestors! 'E 'as my undying gratitude, and I weel spend all my life repaying zis debt to 'im. Getting 'im and his friend out of jail was nothing. I am glad to 'elp Mr Lupin as well, and I will do everything else Bill asks of me."

"I don't need anything else," Bill mumbled. He seemed embarrassed, "I'm grateful to you, but you don't need to do anything else for me."

Fleur clutched his hand, "Bill, never 'ave I met any man who is as gallant or as 'umble as you are! I will never meet such a man again! Even if you turn away from me, I will follow you to ze ends of ze earth."

Charlie raised one eyebrow at Tonks, and she slapped his arm with a disapproving expression on her face, "don't you give me that look!" she hissed, "Bill needs you."

Charlie nodded and got up and whispered quietly to his brother, while Fleur left the two brothers to be alone, arranging herself on a chair in the corner. Bill looked weary and broken as Charlie lead him out of the room to talk to him in private. Tonks turned to Harry and Sirius.

"You two have some explaining to do," she said furiously, "you know, I'm only here at all because of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry frowned, pushing himself up onto the desk where Charlie had been sitting, "I'm surprised you even remember me after all these years. I'd completely forgotten about you."

"Charlie and I have been looking for you," Tonks replied, "because Charlie's brother Ron saw you in Diagon Alley the other day. We thought you were dead, you see – Lupin always gave us that impression. We couldn't believe you were still alive, but we were determined to track you down. But when we went to find Lupin to get the truth out of him, he wasn't home. We went to Hogwarts to see if he'd gone to school early, but he wasn't there either. Finally we got in contact with Dumbledore and he said Lupin had gone to France, and it was just afterwards that the news came through about the attack on the rally and Lupin and Bill being arrested. Dumbledore wanted to come himself, but we reckoned we could handle it, so he gave us a letter and off we went. He felt it was his fault, you see. They were letting those protestors go who had British visas, like Bill, but Lupin only got to France because Dumbledore had pulled a few strings. So he didn't have a permit. The French Ministry thought he had left England illegally, that's why they were so sure he was a werewolf."

Sirius suddenly interrupted his cousin, "Tonks, listen to me," he said, and there was a recklessness in his voice, "if you value Harry's life, you won't tell Dumbledore or the Ministry that he is still alive or that you've seen him. They must never know where he is. Promise me you'll keep us a secret."

Tonks looked surprised and curious, but after a moment, she said, "alright. I promise."

Sirius nodded, "thank you. Did you say before that you're an auror? I didn't know that."

Tonks puffed up her chest, nearly elbowing Harry in the face by accident, then grinned sheepishly, "yeah, I did say that. But, er, I'm not really second in command or anything. I'm not a real Auror at all. I've only been in training for a few months now."

"You did seem awful young," Sirius smirked, "and I suppose Arthur Weasley isn't really head of the Department of Defence, either?"

"Well, no," Tonks admitted, "but he does work there. And Dumbledore isn't really good friends with Minister Mood, but it hasn't always been like that," she looked back at Harry, "now that I've promised not to reveal you, you have to tell me where you've been for the last seven years."

However, they were interrupted by Bill and Charlie returning to the room, followed by Carrié. Walking behind him, rubbing his wrists, was Remus Lupin.

Harry and Tonks both jumped off the desk. Carrié stepped hurriedly out of the way as Tonks hurled herself at Lupin, giving a wordless cheer as she threw her arms around his neck. Lupin stumbled under her weight and nearly fell over, but Charlie steadied him and Tonks quickly pulled back, though she could not let go of her old Professor's shoulders. Lupin smiled at her, "and here I thought I wasn't loved."

"Oh, you know we couldn't let you rot in that cell!" Tonks cried, "look at you – what have they done to you? The beasts!"

"No harm that can't be mended," replied Lupin in his sleepy voice. Indeed, Tonks had reason to exclaim. The DADA teacher's robes were hanging loosely on him, and there were bruises on his face and neck, and a swollen lip that looked as if it had been bleeding freely. But then Lupin cast his eyes around at his rescuers and the smile slipped from his face as he saw Harry and Sirius.

"Hello, Moony," said Harry, and he, too, threw his arms around Lupin, although, unlike Tonks, he could only reach the professor's waist. Lupin covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide with shock, then detached himself from Tonks and bent to hug Harry in return.

"You are too much," he said, and he pulled back and touched Harry's scars with gentle fingers, "oh, Harry," he said quietly, "I'm so sorry, for everything. I've missed your whole life," then he raised his eyes to look at Sirius, who was still standing back against the wall, "and you," he said, "you – I've just missed."

Harry suddenly found himself crushed between his godfather and his honorary Uncle. Sirius had rushed across the floor so quickly no one had seen him move, and the two old friends had embraced each other so fiercely it looked as if neither of them would ever let go. Harry wriggled out from between the two men, clutching Lupin's robes with one hand and Sirius' jacket with the other.

At last, after a minute of heavy silence, the two men parted and looked at each other eye-to-eye. A smile flickered at the corner of Sirius' mouth, "we've got everything to talk about," he said, "all of us," he added, glancing at Tonks, Charlie and Harry.

"Not here," replied Lupin, squeezing Harry's shoulder as if to reassure himself that the boy was real, "let's get out of this hole, and into the sunshine."

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TBC

A/N: Just to clear things up, I'm afraid I'm not a slash writer. I've got nothing against slash, and I do read it sometimes, but I don't write it. So, there will be nothing more than brotherly love between Lupin and Sirius nor between anyone else of the same gender. But, if you like, I will not be in the least bit offended if you decide that there is _implied_ slash. That's up to you and your imagination. You take whatever you want away from this story.

FRENCH TRANSLATIONS: Just basic phrases in today's chapter, "I beg your pardon," "Excuse me," and what Fleur says to the prison guy is, "I want to talk to you about Remus Lupin." (not perfect grammar, but close)


	8. Reunions

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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"How do I begin?" Lupin asked, looking up at the sun which he hadn't seen for over three days. He, Sirius, Harry, Tonks and Charlie had walked to a nearby muggle park and sat down on one of the lawns to talk. Tonks and Charlie were busy trying to conjure a picnic lunch, and having no luck at all. All they had managed so far was a basket of uncooked potatoes (from Charlie) and some kind of raw meat (from Tonks) that nobody wanted to touch. Tonks was now teaching Harry a spell to flame-grill the potatoes, leaving everybody with burnt fingers and scorch marks on the grass.

"Why did you never come to look for us?" Sirius asked quietly, "I mean, at first, I was glad, I thought it meant no one could find us. But after a while…well, it wasn't easy, raising him all by myself."

Lupin closed his eyes, "I don't know," he said slowly, "at first, it was just – it hurt so much to think about you. I had lost Lily and James, and then Peter, and then you and Harry – all in the space of a few days. Every time I thought about coming to find you, I wanted to jump up and go at once, but my legs failed me. It just _hurt_. Then, when I came to teach at Hogwarts, the hurt went away, but I felt guilty instead. What would you say if I came now? I had no excuse for not looking for you at once, and I felt guilt at the thought of facing you and telling you that. And Harry…I still felt so guilty about Harry. It was as if _I_ was the one who had run away and abandoned you both. I couldn't bear to face either of you.

"And then, after a while, it was fear of my own cowardice betraying me that kept me away. Dumbledore has done everything for me. He alone came to help me when I was wallowing in self-pity. He alone offered me shelter, and a job, and friendship. If I found you, how could I keep it from him? I knew I would reveal your hiding place to Dumbledore, I knew I couldn't lie to him, and I feared what he might do if he found you."

"Will you tell him now?" Sirius growled, "now that you know we're both alive and well?"

Lupin shook his head, "no," he said, "I think I'm strong enough, now, to keep that secret," he looked over at where Harry and Tonks were pelting each other with burnt bits of potato, while Charlie looked on, making an embarrassed face at such childish behaviour, "I see the truth has not affected Harry."

Sirius didn't answer. Lupin looked at him, and frowned a little, "you _have_ told him?"

"No," Sirius shook his head reluctantly, "he doesn't know about the Horcruxes. He thinks we're in hiding because of his lycanthropy."

"_What?_" Lupin's face twisted, "_what?_" he repeated, "he doesn't _know?_"

"I couldn't tell him. He was too young. And somehow, the truth got harder every year," Sirius refused to meet his friend's eye, "I've always meant to tell him what he is, but I just…never got round to it."

Lupin goggled at him, "tell him now," he said, "Sirius, this is unbelievable! Tell him the truth right now, or I will."

Sirius grabbed his arm, "no you won't," he said fiercely, "you mustn't. He'll hate me for keeping this a secret from him."

"Every day you put it off will only make it worse!" Lupin said loudly. Harry looked over at the two men, curious. Sirius turned Lupin away so that Harry couldn't see their faces.

"I'll tell him," he said, "it has to be me. But not yet. Don't you understand, Remus? Once he knows, he'll know that he is doomed to live a short, unhappy life. He'll know that the fate of the entire wizarding world, the freedom of every witch and wizard in Europe – and with you-know-who gaining power overseas, it will soon spread beyond Europe – hinges on one event: his death. Without it, you-know-who can never be destroyed. I will not burden him with that knowledge, not until I know he is ready."

Lupin shook his head, "this is wrong. Keeping something like that from him is wrong."

"Please," said Sirius, "please, let me tell him when he is ready. When _I_ am ready."

Lupin made a face, then sighed, "alright. I won't tell him. But I'll nag you about it until you do. You know I will. I'll nag you like an old wife."

Sirius smiled, and he looked ten years younger, "there's the Remus I know and love."

He yelled as Harry pounced on him from behind, "hey, watch it, cub. You're getting heavy!"

"You mean _you're_ getting old and frail," Harry replied, "have you two kissed and made up yet? I can't entertain Tonks forever, you know."

Lupin looked up as Tonks and Charlie flopped down beside him. Tonks offered him a basket of rather sooty and mashed potatoes, "they're not delicious, but they're not bad," she said apologetically.

"Thank you," Lupin took one of the less-mashed potatoes, "and thank you as well for coming to get me. I think I will reconsider France as a retirement option."

"Bill did far more than us," Charlie said, his mouth full of scalding potato.

"Is he alright?"

"He's gone with Fleur," Charlie replied, swallowing his mouthful, "poor guy. He loved Iolanthe, he really did…and now he's got that French girl following him around, making him feel guilty."

"I don't know how he can resist her, she _must_ be part veela," grinned Sirius, and Harry hit him.

"That's awful, Sirius!" he scolded, "you're old enough to be her father."

"Harry, when you reach adolescence, you'll know what I mean," said Sirius, pulling his godson over his shoulder so that he was holding Harry upside-down, "and I'm only being sympathetic to Bill. In all honesty, I think maybe after he's had a while to recover, he won't mind Fleur's company any more."

"I noticed _you_ didn't seem too affected by her," Tonks elbowed Charlie, "already immune to her charms because of all the years you've spent resisting mine, huh?"

Charlie wiggled his eyebrows, "something like that."

The two younger wizards lapsed into a conversation which made Lupin's mouth gape, and he put his hands over Harry's ears, "you two should be a bit more discreet," he muttered to Tonks, so she and Charlie moved a bit further away so that they were out of earshot.

"What were they saying?" Harry asked, once Lupin deemed it safe to uncover his ears, "surely it can't be worse than Sirius swearing at Kreacher."

Sirius coughed loudly while Lupin glowered disapprovingly at him.

Harry leant his head against Lupin's arm like a cat asking for a cuddle, "I missed you," he said, "it's almost like having Mum again. I do remember her, you know."

Lupin almost pulled away from Harry for a moment. He felt awkward, as if he was an intruder in Sirius and Harry's life. Then he relaxed and smiled, "that is more than anyone could ask of you. I am sorry, Harry, that I have not been here before now. That is my own stupid fault, and I promise, I will try to be there as much as possible from this moment onwards."

"Then that's all I ask," said Harry.

---------------------------------

The sun was sinking towards the horizon, and Bill and Fleur were standing in an empty courtyard together. The sunset turned her hair as red as his, and she was staring at him with a mournful look on her face.

"Will you not let me comfort you, at ze least?" she asked softly.

Bill shook his head. He had spent the afternoon with the strange, beautiful French girl, who seemed so infatuated with him it was almost frightening. But Iolanthe's death was still too real, too raw. He turned towards Fleur a little, and said, "even if I could love you, you're barely fifteen. You're still at school, you haven't even come of age! Wait a bit, a year, three years – then, if you still want me, come find me. But wait, and give me time to pull myself back together."

Fleur sniffed, and bent her head, "very well, zen zat is what I will do. But I promise you, Bill Weasley, I will still love you, no matter 'ow long I 'ave to wait."

"Alright," said Bill, "goodbye, Fleur."

Charlie had appeared on the other side of the courtyard, with Tonks just behind him, talking to some French children who were pointing at her bright pink hair. Charlie waved at him, and Bill waved back. He let go of Fleur's hand and jogged across the flagstones towards his brother. When he reached Charlie, he looked over his shoulder, and raised his hand to Fleur. She made no sign in return, but stood still as stone, and watched him walk away.

---------------------------------------------

Sirius and Harry saw Lupin off before he left for Hogwarts. The awkwardness that Lupin had felt around the young boy was rapidly evaporating. Lupin had spoken to Sirius again about Harry's education in the magical arts, but Sirius had still refused to consider letting Harry go to school. The DADA Professor could only promise to bring Harry text books and other study materials.

"I'll come visit the first weekend I get off, and as many weekends as possible after that," he told Harry as they arrived at the bus stop. The sky above them was overcast, a grey light filling the empty street and diluting Harry's smile.

"Perhaps you could come during the full moon," Harry said hopefully as he hugged Lupin goodbye.

Sirius and Lupin looked at each other, "er, perhaps that's not such a good idea," Lupin replied. He and Sirius had already talked about trying to procure Wolfsbane from the Hogwarts potion master and sending it to Harry, and both had agreed it would not be possible without arousing too much suspicion. But if Harry and Lupin were to transform together, Harry would probably notice that Lupin's mind was not that of a wolf, which seemed a bit unfair on him.

"Well, think about it," said Harry, as he and Lupin parted, "you must be very lonely, all by yourself every month. And Sirius in his dog-form usually sleeps through it nowadays, so it's very boring for me."

"You're a better behaved werewolf than you used to be," Sirius laughed, clapping his godson on the shoulder.

"I'll think about it," Lupin cupped Harry's chin as the bus that he was catching to King's Cross Station arrived. He got aboard and Harry and Sirius waved to him as the bus pulled away.

"Poor Moony," said Harry, once the bus was out of sight.

"Why do you say that?" Sirius asked as they turned and began walking back to Grimmauld Place.

Harry shrugged, "well, I think he needs us more than we need him," he said sadly, "and I was just thinking of all those years he didn't have us."

His godfather smiled, "he's got us now," he said.

-------------------------------------------

TBC


	9. Schoolbooks and Mice

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

------------------------------------

Harry began to learn magic for the first time, and he revelled in it. Living in the old Black house, it was not hard to find ways to practise, because everything around him was magical and commonly could not be handled without magic. Sirius had gone to Diagon Alley and bought him _The Standard Book of Spells _(Grade 1) as well asPolicant's _Philosophy of Magic_, _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, and a few other schoolbooksHis godfather also dug up, from the extensive Black library, a number of other books he remembered finding helpful when he was learning magic, such as _The Red Book of Costamaret _and a vast volume called _Tangential Magic_, which even Harry found daunting when he saw it for the first time.

"Lupin will know some other good books," Sirius said, as Harry warily opened the cover of _Tangential Magic,_ "but we can get started with basic spells. My charm work was never fabulous, but Lily was always very good, so I'm sure you'll pick it up. And I've forgotten most of my Magical History, but we can get books for that, and Lupin can give you tests when he comes to visit."

However, finding time for magic lessons was easier said than done. Harry was now attending a muggle school in the city, and Sirius had gotten a secretarial job in an office block. He usually did not get home until six or seven in the evening, and was often too exhausted to even make dinner when he did. Harry was getting better at cooking meals and sorting his own transport out, but it was still a pain when Sirius got home late in the evening and promptly fell asleep on the couch without even having a bite to eat. It was lonely in the big house with only Kreacher and the portrait of Sirius' mother for companions, neither of them being very good conversationalists.

He was also having trouble making friends at his new school, because of his scars and also because he was quite good at his lessons. It was difficult, knowing he could never invite other children home to his house or give anyone his phone number. And the teachers, as they always did, saw his scars and asked him constantly if he was having problems at home. They never seemed to get the hint, no matter how many times he assured them he was perfectly fine.

However, he soon made friends with a tall Latino girl named Patty, and spent his spare afternoons at her house, or walking around town with her. She was an avid reader, and one Friday morning at school she saw the top of a book poking out of Harry's bag and snatched the volume up before he could hide it. It was _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, _which Harry had forgotten to take out of his bag after a weekend lesson with Sirius, and her eyes boggled as she flicked through it.

"This is amazing!" she said, skimming down a page about the differences between a real apple and an apple that was really a transfigured block of wood, "it looks just like a real schoolbook. I suppose it is some kind of joke book?"

"It's not a joke," he muttered, trying to grab the book back without drawing the attention of their teacher, who was demonstrating long-division on the white board with her back to the class.

Patty looked curiously at him, "is your Dad in one of those hippie cults where they think they can do real magic? You know, commune with spirits and stuff? Is that why I'm not allowed around to your house?"

"Of course not," Harry said, ducking as the teacher glared at him for talking, "could I just have the book back?"

"Can I hang on to it for a while?" Patty continued to flick through the pages, "I'd like to read it properly. Do you think if I waved my hand and said these words, these spells could work?" she was grinning mischievously, but Harry was furious. He thought of what Sirius would say if he found out Harry had given his magical schoolbooks to a muggle.

Patty picked up her pencil and mimicked the wand movement described on the page, "Makus Murine!"she said, laughing and pointing at the bottle of twink on the edge of her desk while reciting the spell to turn a bottle of ink into a mouse.

Harry, who had learned the spell the weekend before, ground his teeth and found that he had pulled his wand out of his pocket without meaning to. For a moment he held the smooth wood in his hand, resisting the urge to try and summon the book, since he had yet to master any summoning charms. Even though he had promised Sirius he would never take his wand to school, it was hard to resist once he had learned the spell that instantly solved algebra sums for him.

"_Makus Murine_," he said, pointing at the twink bottle under his desk. Suddenly a white mouse was sitting on Patty's desk where the twink bottle had been a moment before. Patty shrieked and her hand flew to her mouth. The mouse blinked in confusion, then it scampered across the desk, leaving tiny white twink-footprints in its wake, and jumped down onto the floor. Harry took the chance to grab the _Transfiguration_ book back and slip it into his bag.

Alerted by Patty's shriek, other students turned and saw the mouse. Most of them laughed and pointed, but two or three of the girls screamed and jumped onto their chairs, gibbering. Patty just stared in amazement as the mouse ran down the aisle between the desks towards the teacher, who suddenly saw what had distracted her class. She, too, gave a sharp squawk and, as the mouse headed straight for her ankle, she brought her foot down right onto the tiny creature.

There was a squelching sound and white twink burst across the floor like a tiny balloon filled with paint. The teacher looked up at the class, which was in the early stages of chaos, and bellowed, "SILENCE!"

Everyone was quiet and still at once, "_who released that foul rodent in my class_?" cried the teacher.

Several people swung their heads to look at Patty, who slowly raised her hand, a look of shock still plastered across her face. The teacher's cheek were flushed red and she looked ready to explode, as the mouse had.

"Miss," Harry threw his hand into the air, "it wasn't Patty, Miss. It was my pet mouse. I was just showing it to her and it got away."

The teacher's eyes locked onto Harry's like a cruise missile, and he sunk down in his seat as the whole class turned to look at him, "Mr Potter. I would not have expected it from you. Bringing animals to school – really!" her voice rose, "you will see me after class, and you will clean up this mess on the floor," she frowned at the twink congealing on the lino, as if trying to figure out why a mouse would have white blood, "now, everyone stop giggling and finish this problem," she returned to the whiteboard, visibly seething.

Patty did not look at Harry for the rest of the lesson, but as the bell rung for morning break and they got up to leave, she leaned over and said quietly, "thanks for taking the beating for me."

"It's alright," he replied.

But her eyes were glittering, "you did that. You did it. The bottle…How?"

"It was a trick," he said desperately, still whispering, "the mouse was in my sleeve."

Patty just shook her head, smiling, "I'll see you later."

Gloomily, he put his bag at the front of the class and the teacher unlocked the cleaning cupboard so that he could begin scrubbing the white splash on the floor. He expected her to go for her break in the teacher's lounge, which would have been nice, because then he could have had a moment alone to think up ways to explain the mouse to Patty. But no such luck. His teacher sat down at her desk and began to watch him spray cleaning fluid onto the splash of twink.

"Are you having any problems at home, Harry?" she asked sweetly.

_Oh no, not again_. Here came the questions. _Are you having problems at home, Harry? Where did you get those bruises, Harry? Are you sure you don't want to tell me about it, Harry?_ Harry had long ago decided it was something to do with the scars on his face and teachers' unquenchable determination to find something rotten about him. Often, they seemed to take one look at Sirius' long pony-tail and unmarried status and call the social welfare services. Once or twice, the principal of the school had invited Harry into his office to try and wriggle the truth out of him. They all seemed to believe, without a shred of doubt, that Harry was being abused in some way.

"No problems," he said, kneeling to scrub the twink with a cloth, but he seemed to be doing nothing more than spreading it around.

"I noticed that the phone number we have on record for your house doesn't work."

"Why would you call my house?" asked Harry, scrubbing harder. He shouldn't argue: arguing always made them more suspicious. But it was so hard not to argue.

"Well, I was worried," the teacher replied in a sugary voice, as if she had forgotten she had been yelling at him not half an hour before, "when you came to school a few weeks ago with all those scratches on your neck."

_Damn those scratches_, thought Harry. Usually, his godfather was very careful to heal or, at the very least, conceal, any wounds he received during the full moon. But four weeks ago, after the previous moon, Sirius had had to go to work early in the morning and had not had time to do anything more than cast a quick pain-relief spell.

"I told you, my cat attacked me," said Harry, "it's a little brute. Its name is Kreacher, and it tends to get grumpy if I don't pay it enough attention," vapid details about his home life often reassured the teachers of his wellbeing.

"It's alright to talk," the teacher said, putting her hands together in her lap as if holding something very fragile, "if there's anything going on at all. I know your father works long hours, and you're so quiet in class. Perhaps I could help you make some more friends, if I had a word to some of the other children?"

"I've got Patty," said Harry, his head still bent as he scratched at the dried twink, "and I can make my _own_ friends," he was very worried that both these statements might no longer be true.

"Well, alright," said the teacher, "once you've cleaned that up, you can go." She got up and walked to the door.

Harry refused to look up until she had shut the door. Then he whipped out his wand and muttered "_scourgify_." Maybe he couldn't do much magic yet, but if there was one thing you learned very quickly when you lived in Grimmauld Place, it was how to get things clean.

----------------------------------------------

He didn't talk to Patty for the rest of the day, though she tried to get his attention several times. Maybe, he hoped, if he ignored her, she would forget what she had seen. But apparently muggles were not that stupid. Patty cornered him once the last bell had rung for the day.

"Please tell me what I saw was real," she said, as he tried to busy himself with fixing a rip in his schoolbag, "I want to believe it was real, but I can't."

He shook his head, "it isn't real. It was just a trick. You should just stop thinking about it."

"Alright," she said sadly, but she didn't walk home with Harry that afternoon, which put him in a worse mood than ever. In his irritated and distracted state, it took him forever to get the door of Grimmauld Place unlocked, since you had to tap it in just the right place, in just the right way. Finally it swung open and he stormed inside, slamming it after him.

"And here now I thought you were looking forward to seeing me."

Harry swung around and saw Remus Lupin coming up the stairs from the kitchen. At once all his frustration melted away and he dropped his bag in front of the portrait of Mrs Black (who shrieked at him that she would never have allowed untidy scum like him into her home) and threw himself into Lupin's arms, "Moony! You came!"

"You doubted me?" Lupin shouted over Mrs Black's shrieks. He gave Harry a quick hug and then the two of fought to pull the curtains back over Sirius' mother's portrait, "did you have a bad day?" he said loudly.

"Nothing I can't handle!" Harry shouted in return. At last Mrs Black's ravings were silenced and Harry lowered his voice to normal pitch, "how did you get into the house, anyway?"

"Floo powder," replied Lupin as they meandered down to the kitchen, "not my favourite method of transport, I admit, but I only have the weekend off and I did not want to waste time with broomsticks and trains."

"Have you had something to eat?" Harry asked, pulling out a loaf of bread to make himself a sandwich, "I think Sirius got the toaster to stop biting again."

"No, thank you, I prefer an empty stomach before a full moon," Lupin waved him off.

"Really?" asked Harry through a mouthful of bread, "I always like to eat a lot. But Sirius says that's just because I grow two inches every month," he swallowed the last of his sandwich. He rarely had a chance to talk to Lupin about their mutual affliction, "I'm glad you decided to come," he said, "but you'll be on Wolfsbane, so I suppose you won't be much different from having Padfoot around."

Lupin frowned, "how did you know I'm on Wolfsbane?"

"Guessed," Harry shrugged, "I'm not as dumb as you all think I am," he grinned, "besides, there had to be a reason why Sirius spello-taped those two pages of my potions book together. He didn't want me reading up on Wolfsbane. I think he's scared I'll try and brew it myself."

"Speaking of potions," said Lupin, arranging himself comfortably on the chair, "can you tell me what's the most important ingredient in most revival serums?"

"Mandrake root," said Harry, making himself another sandwich.

"And which syllable is usually emphasised in the words of a floating charm?"

"The second one," said Harry. He was getting used to Lupin's quizzes. The Professor seemed determined that if Sirius was going to be Harry's only magical tutor, he should at least get everything right.

"And which important law was passed during the International Warlock Convention of 1289?"

"Oh, that's not fair, how am I s'posed to know that?"

"History is just as important as everything else," said Professor Lupin, leaning back in his chair, "and you _should_ know the answer to that. It was the first Werewolf Protection Act, the constituents of which, unfortunately, have been largely forgotten by today's wizards."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, "you're a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. So, teach me some Defence Against the Dark Arts. I like that best."

"And I suppose you need it, living in this house," smiled Lupin, "so, where did I leave off? Oh, that's right, we were talking about the difference between Light and Dark magic…"

--------------------------------------------------

Lupin was still explaining the difference between Light and Dark magic to Harry when Sirius arrived home at around five, soaking wet because it had begun to rain outside. He had gotten off work early, as he always did on the day of the full moon.

"Hello, hello, hello!" he said brightly, shaking himself like a dog as he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, "I see Remus forgot to turn up, and had to send his identical twin Professor R.J Lupin instead."

Lupin gave him an exasperated look, "James will strike me down if I allow his son to be educated so despicably," he said sternly, "you have to teach him some more theory of magic, not just dribs and drabs of spells and charm-work."

"Harry's doing alright, aren't you?" said Sirius with a floppy grin, now trying to dry his hair by blowing warm air onto it from his wand.

"I would if you'd let me practise on Kreacher," said Harry. He was in no mood to start an argument about his education between his two tutors.

"Well, I wouldn't object, you just have to catch him first," began Sirius, but he was interrupted by a sudden ringing sound, tailed closely by a violent outbreak of screaming from Mrs Black's portrait.

"Good lord, was that the _doorbell_?" said Lupin, getting to his feet, "who on earth would be ringing your doorbell?"

"I keep meaning to disconnect that thing," said Sirius grimly, standing up straight to tie his hair back again, "but since that's the first time it's been used since we got here, I didn't see the point. We'll just ignore it, it's probably one of our neighbours asking for a cup of sugar or something."

"You can't ignore someone standing on your doorstep," said Lupin, heading for the stairs, "especially not when it's raining. Besides, we have to get your mother to be quiet before they think we're running some kind of…well, goodness-knows-what they'll think."

He and Harry went up into the hall and dragged the curtains shut over the portrait of Mrs Black, who was drooling enthusiastically and shouting rude words at the umbrella stand. Then, Sirius hanging back with a reluctant look on his face, Lupin unbolted the door and opened it.

A tall, sour woman, whom Harry recognised immediately, was standing on the doorstep, raising her hand to press the doorbell again. As soon as the door was open she stepped up onto the threshold and thrust out her hand for Lupin to shake.

"Good evening, I'm Dorothy Balder," she said firmly, "I'm Harry's teacher at school. You must be Mr Potter, Harry's father."

"Pleased to meet you," said Lupin, looking a little taken aback, "and, no."

"I'm sorry?" Mrs Balder squinted at Lupin as if she were missing her spectacles.

"No, I'm not Harry's father," said Lupin, smiling in a bemused kind of way, "I'm his uncle, Remus Lupin. _This_ is Harry's father," and he stepped back to accommodate Sirius into the doorway.

"Oh. Well," Mrs Balder leaned back a bit to gape at the scruffy, lean, long, dark-haired man looking down at her with the kind of blank expression usually worn by hostile gorillas. This was the look Sirius kept for people he disliked on sight. She took a moment to compose herself, "well, it's a p-p-pleasure to finally meet you, Mr Potter," she said to Sirius, but she did not offer him her hand.

Sirius waited for her to continue. Lupin was still standing aside with that same bemused smile. Harry was bobbing at the back, trying to figure out whether Mrs Balder's face had gone green yet. That was what had happened to all the other teachers who had come calling, concerned about Harry's well-being.

However, Mrs Balder, it seemed, was made of sterner stuff, "actually," she said after a moment's silence, "it isn't a pleasure. I've come to talk about Harry's behaviour in class."

The bottom fell out of Harry's stomach. Mrs Balder was not here to accuse Sirius of being an abusive father. She was here about the mouse.

"Harry's been bad?" Sirius had apparently reverted to gorilla-talk out of shock. He looked down at his godson, evidently just as surprised as Harry to hear that Mrs Balder was not calling the police on him.

"No, not exactly," said Mrs Balder. She seemed to sense she had hit a weak spot and plowed ahead, "most of the time he is very good-natured, and his grades are certainly not displeasing. However, I am concerned about his…shall we say…tendency for mischief, which has escalated as the year has gone on. I have, twice now, caught him with plants in his desk, though how he got them in there I can only guess. I have reason to believe that last week he put some kind of stink bomb in my rubbish bin, causing the loss of an entire afternoon's work because the classroom had to be aired out. And today he released a mouse – a live mouse! – onto the floor with the pure intention of observing the panic it would create among the other students. Though he is a model student in nearly every other area, this lack of respect for authority and the classroom environment concerns me intensely," her speech complete, Mrs Balder drew herself up to her full height and waited for Sirius' reaction.

"I see," said Sirius slowly, after several seconds of heavy silence, "well, thank you for telling me all this, I was unaware of such behaviour in my son. I promise I will have a good talk with him and hopefully he will produce better results over the rest of the year."

"Yes, but-" Mrs Balder tried to step into the hall, but Sirius was completely blocking her path.

"Thank you, Mrs Balder, and I hope you have a good weekend," said Sirius, and with that, he shut the door very firmly. Then he turned to Harry.

"Oh, no," said Lupin rubbing he nose.

Sirius folded his arms, "plants in your desk?"

"I was practising that instant seed-growth charm during History," said Harry miserably. Sirius did not get angry at him very often, but when he did, it always ended in both of them sulking. And he had been so looking forward to a weekend with Lupin.

"And stink bombs in the rubbish bin?"

"I wanted to try out those dung bombs Charlie and Tonks sent me," Harry explained.

"And a _mouse_ in the _classroom_?"

"That was sort of an accident," said Harry, wincing, "it was a bottle of twink. And then it was a mouse. And then it was on the floor."

"And you think that is acceptable behaviour at school?" said Sirius, his chest swelling.

Lupin rolled his eyes, "here it comes."

"Harry, your father would be ashamed of you," said Sirius, and Harry saw, to his enormous surprise, that his godfather was struggling to suppress a smile, "if you wanted to grow plants, I could have recommended you a _much_ more powerful spell than that little charm. And surely you cannot be so careless with a dung bomb as to be caught by a teacher? You clearly need a little lesson in espionage. As for the mouse – _one mouse, _Harry? Just _one?_ By God, if I'd been in your shoes, there would have been hundreds of the little buggers running across the floor! And they would have been purple and gold striped while I was at it!"

Harry blinked. Lupin was glaring at Sirius with a look of enormous and barely-restrained condemnation, while Sirius was beaming with such pride anyone watching might have thought Harry had just been awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class.

"You're not angry at me?" Harry frowned, trying wonder if he should be pleased or concerned.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, "Harry, I couldn't be angry with you even if I wanted to. I long thought Lily's good sense had completely overwhelmed any spark of mischief-making that you had inherited from James. I am very glad to be proved wrong," he grinned and shook his head, "all these years, I thought I had failed you as a father, unable to fan the flames of disorder that James would surely have roused in you. But it seems I have still managed to live up to his expectations. Harry, all you need now is a little tutoring in how not to get _caught_."

Lupin cleared his throat, "there's still the little matter of doing _magic_ in front of _muggles_," he said dryly, "I'm as game for a good laugh as you are, Sirius, but I hope I am not being too dour if I remind you that the ministry can _detect_ magic performed in front of muggles?"

"Bah," Sirius waved his hand, "they'll never look into anything smaller than an unforgivable curse these days, not with a war on and everything. Now, in case you two hairy lumps have forgotten, we've only got an hour until moonrise. We had better get moving."

And, still grinning and rubbing his hands like a man who has just discovered a loathed enemy has contracted incurable dragon pox, he headed downstairs towards the basement. Harry followed him, feeling buoyed up with happiness, and Lupin walked beside him, still sighing his steadfastly-ignored disapproval to the air.

----------------------------------------

The morning after the full moon saw Harry and Lupin slumped at the kitchen table, both exhausted and mildly irritable, a common post-moon symptom. Sirius was making the two of them a breakfast of French toast, sausages and fruit, despite Lupin's assertion that he would never be able to look at anything French again.

While his godfather watched the breakfast, Harry spoke to the DADA professor in a serious voice. He had never had the chance to transform with another werewolf, and, even though at the time he was not in any state to observe, the process of transformation had fascinated him.

However, "You're ashamed of it, aren't you?" Harry asked quietly.

Lupin looked over at him, and did not seem able to reply.

"Ashamed of what you are. As if it's something dirty, monstrous," Harry continued.

"Yes, Harry. I suppose I am," said Lupin. "It's hard not to be ashamed."

Harry shuffled forward a little, "you shouldn't be. I'm not."

"You're not?" Lupin frowned a little, "what makes you say that?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel better," the boy said, "I just don't ever want to let myself be ashamed. I couldn't live, thinking I was some kind of – I don't know, monstrosity. That's no way to live."

Lupin stared at Harry, as if properly seeing him for the first time, "then you're stronger than I have ever been," he said at last.

Harry shook his head, "you don't need to be strong. You just need to see it as something ordinary. I mean, after all," he raised his voice, "it's no worse than having a foul mouth and a drinking problem, like Sirius."

From the other side of the kitchen his godfather, still watching the toast in the frying pan, waved the spatula in their general direction, "I do _not_ have a drinking problem! Do not believe that child's lies, Moony! He's rotten to the core, just like his father!"

Lupin's face broke into deep, rolling laughs, and he put his chin on his elbows, "both of you," he said, "are the most terrible influence on me. And that's no mistake."

------------------------------------------

TBC


	10. A London Christmas

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

------------------------------------

Moony visited Grimmauld place on two more weekends over the rest of the term, and then quite suddenly the winter holidays were upon them. Harry, to his enormous pleasure, was freed from school responsibilities, and Sirius was given a week's leave from work over Christmas. There was not yet any snow, only a lot of rain and flooding on the street outside, but the excitement of his first Christmas in London – his first _real_ Christmas, Harry thought – could not be dampened by the weather.

Each day he took one of the umbrellas (the one that only tried to strangle you if you opened it too quickly) and splashed through the flooded streets to visit Patty, until in the second week she went away on holiday to Bristol with her family. She seemed to have taken his advice about forgetting the mouse to heart: at the least, she did not mention it, or the transfiguration book, in Harry's presence. She promised to write him a postcard while she was away, and Harry told her she could now address it to number 12 instead of to one of their neighbours, because Sirius had finally gotten around to erecting a letterbox for the muggle postman outside their house.

At last, on Christmas eve, Lupin arrived on their doorstep, carrying his worn travelling case in one hand and an umbrella with patches on it in the other. He had had to stay at Hogwarts later than usual because of "Business with Dumbledore," but he was not going to go back on his word to Harry that he would spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place.

"You can't mean the Order," said Sirius as the two of them stood over the sink, peeling vegetables, while Harry shelled peas into a bowl at the kitchen table, "you're still involved with all that?"

"Yes, there's still a war on, in case you've forgotten. But you know I can't tell you anything," Lupin sighed, "we're all charmed, jinxed and bewitched into secrecy. And besides, there really has been very little activity recently, since the McKinnons were killed last year, you might not of heard. You-know-who has been so quiet it's beginning to be a worry – and the Death Eaters have been laying so low we're wondering if they've all given up and gone to bed."

"All that amazes me is that the Order has lasted so long," Sirius whistled, "Old Dumb-door," (this was his nicknamed for Dumbledore), "must sure know how to pick 'em. I mean, the fact that there's never been a spy discovered is astounding -"

"Except for Peter," said Lupin quietly.

"Except for Peter," Sirius echoed grimly, hacking great chunks off a carrot he was skinning, "but in the end, it wasn't the Order that he betrayed, was it?"

"What's the Order?" Harry asked, dumping the bowlful of peas on the bench and picking up a parsnip and a knife.

Sirius and Lupin both jumped, "adults' stuff, Harry," Sirius grunted quickly.

"Suit yourself," shrugged Harry, cutting the ends off the parsnip, "we've got to get that chicken in the oven or it won't be cooked until midnight."

"I just wish I could remember the spell to make this thing work faster," said Sirius, heading over to the great cast-iron oven and opening the door as if hoping to discover its secret just by looking inside, "I'm sure Kreacher knows it, but every time I ask him he crosses his eyes and mutters that I deserve to starve to death for betraying the Black family."

"Well, let's have a look, then," Lupin wiped his hands on a tea-towel and bent down beside Sirius. The two of them poked around inside the oven with their wands for a while, but with no satisfactory change in the oven's cooking speed.

"There's nothing wrong with doing it the muggle way," said Harry at last, in exasperation, "we just have to be a bit patient, that's all."

------------------------------------

Harry slept soundly that night, full of the most the delicious roast dinner he had ever eaten, and awoke to the sound of his Godfather walking up and down the hall outside, singing rude Christmas carols at the top of his husky voice. He listened contentedly to Lupin, who was sleeping in the room next to Harry, leaning out into the corridor and telling Sirius to shut up because _some_ people had been just apparated half-way across the country and wanted a bit of a lie-in.

"Oh, buck up, there's coffee downstairs!" Sirius called as he scampered away down the hall. His mother began shrieking again, erasing any possible hope that anybody would get any more sleep that morning, so Harry got up, pulled on some clothes and headed off towards the kitchen.

"Morning, Mrs Black," he said as he passed her portrait.

"Don't you speak to me, you aberrant little cretin!" Mrs Black screamed, frothing at the mouth, her hair flying wildly around her, "I will never rest until you filthy monstrosities are driven from my house!"

"Or until we figure out what type of charm is keeping you stuck to that wall," Harry replied, pausing in front of the portrait, "do you even know it's Christmas?"

Mrs Black wailed, "pagan beasts! Oh, the shame rips at my breast, that that disgusting muggle holiday should be celebrated in the noble home of my forefathers!"

"I could get you a present, if you like," Harry told her, "I'm not _that_ bad an artist. I could just paint it into the corner there, a nice box of chocolates, or something."

"Do not dare to befoul my image with you worthless hand!" Mrs Black screamed, her hands flying to her head as if she were trying to tear her own ears off, "oh, why was I cursed to bear a son who would betray me, blood and heart? Why?"

"Perhaps the two of you could have a civilised conversation for once," Harry said brightly, "after all, Christmas is the time for forgiveness."

"Oh, stop teasing her, Harry," Lupin said as he came down the hall. Mrs Black was wailing about 'that repulsive disgrace that sprung from my womb' as he and Harry pulled the curtains over her picture.

"She really says some interesting things if you can calm her down a bit," said Harry, "I've learned so much about the history of the Black family from her. Did you know one of Sirius' ancestors was a headmaster at Hogwarts?"

"I had no idea," Lupin replied as they entered the kitchen. Harry's godfather was humming merrily over a large pot of porridge that was steaming on the stove. Sitting on the table were a number of packages wrapped in brightly-coloured paper.

"Wow!" Harry's eyes widened as he took a seat. As far as he could remember, he had never seen so many Christmas presents at once. Usually, when he was younger, he was lucky to get a book or a new toy for Christmas, and Sirius never bought anything for himself.

"Breakfast first," said Lupin, sitting down next to him and summoning bowls and spoons with a wave of his wand.

Harry wolfed down his porridge, unable to keep his eyes off the sparkling gifts, and was finished long before Sirius and Lupin. He waited while they both ate their porridge with exaggerated slowness, unable to stop himself wriggling a little.

"Alright," said Sirius, banishing the empty bowls to the sink and leaning back, "you can start opening them now."

Harry picked up the nearest package before his godfather had even finished speaking. The label said, 'To Harry, from Padfoot,' and inside was – surprise, surprise – a thick, paper-back book. However, he blinked when he saw that the brightly coloured cover was not moving, and opened it to find with was full of pictures.

"It's a comic book," he said.

"The best muggle comic collection around," said Sirius, "no son of mine could grow up without a little Pini in their lives. My mother jinxed my fingers off every time she caught me reading it. And I'll show you the spell to enchant the pages so that you can read it in class without getting caught."

"I knew dishonesty would come into it somewhere," Lupin muttered. Harry grinned at Sirius, carefully laid the thick comic book aside and picked up the next present.

"This one's for you, from Sirius," he said, handing a long, thin package to Lupin, who looked almost surprised. Apparently this was _his_ first real Christmas for a long time, too. He opened the wrapping to reveal a brand new umbrella.

"Very practical," Lupin smiled.

"Hey, it's not a Black family biting umbrella," Sirius said, "it forecasts the weather ahead of time, repels water from the ankles upward, dries itself instantly _and_ comes with six different interchangeable patterns."

"I have no doubt it will come in handy," said Lupin, putting the umbrella in his lap. He nodded for Harry to pick the next present.

"This one is from Tonks and Charlie, 'To Harry and that awful cousin of mine, what's his name? From Tonks', 'she's only kidding, Sirius, from Charlie'" Harry said, reading the card on a neon-pink box. He pulled off the wrapping, "oh! It's a selection of sweets. I haven't tried any of these since we went to Diagon Alley," he inspected the large box of toffees, jelly-beans, boiled lollies, sherbets, bubble-gum, peppermints, bonbons and row after row of chocolates, "I feel awful, I didn't even send them a card. I didn't expect to get anything, after all, and I don't even know where they live."

"I'm sure they'll understand," said Lupin. The pile was dwindling now: the only thing left was a tiny model dragon from Sirius that really flew and breathed sparks, and for Lupin, a pair of enormous glittering earrings in the shape of crescent moons, (a joke from Tonks and Charlie, since Lupin, of course, did not have pierced ears). And then Harry tentatively offered Lupin and his godfather each a gift out of his own pocket.

"They're only things I found around the house," he said as he said as he handed them the tiny packages wrapped in parchment. He didn't have any money, so he'd had to get all his gifts by other means, "but I made sure they were things that didn't explode."

Lupin's gift from Harry seemed, at first, to be nothing more than a gold and black chipped tea-cup filled with dirt, but Harry explained that the seed of a Lupin flower was already planted in the soil, "it's not a very good pun, I know," said Harry hastily, while Sirius roared with laughter on the other side of the table, "but they're supposed to bloom in the full moon."

"Thank you, Harry," smiled Lupin, "I promise I will water it every day."

"Right, so what have you got me?" Sirius asked, unwrapping his gift. It was a small cardboard box, and it seemed to be wriggling. Sirius paused, then carefully opened the lid.

Sitting inside were two small mice, both striped purple-and-gold and both looking thoroughly shook-up from spending the morning in Harry's pocket.

"I finally figured out how to change a mouse's fur colour," said Harry, "but I still couldn't figure out how to make a hundred of them. So I got you a male and a female."

Sirius grinned and shook his head, "you caught these in the house?"

"Yes. Kreacher was about to eat them," said Harry, "and I didn't really know what to do with them after I saved them."

"Harry, they're _beautiful_," Sirius said, picking up one of the mice by its tail and rotating it in mid air, "that is some very nice charm work, by the way. I knew you'd have your mother's talent."

Wrapping paper was spread across the floor but the table was now empty. Harry looked up as Lupin cleared his throat, "I've got something as well," he said in his sleepy voice.

Harry watched as he withdrew a package wrapped in brown paper from under his robes, and handed it to Harry. It was light and floppy, and he looked at looked Lupin, wondering if the professor had given him a pair of socks.

"Open it," said Sirius, "I can't stand the suspense."

Harry ripped open one side of the package, and, like water, out flowed something that shimmered silver and soft like a puddle of liquid moonlight. Harry looked it and lifted it up, and Sirius put his hand to his mouth.

"Good god," he muttered, "that can't be…Lupin, how did you get it?"

"What is it?" Harry asked, shaking the strange material out. It was light, seamless, creaseless, thin as tissue paper yet strong as steel rope.

"Your father's invisibility cloak," Lupin told him.

"I thought it was burned in the Potter's house," Sirius shook his head, "I felt such a fool for leaving it there, but there wasn't time to search for it…Lupin, where did it come from?"

Lupin coughed and suddenly found his fingernails very interesting, "Dumbledore gave it to me," he said finally.

Sirius' face hardened, "you asked him for it?"

"I saw it in his office a few weeks ago," Lupin said hurriedly, "and I asked him if I could have it. He wasn't suspicious, Sirius, _really_ he wasn't. He didn't think it was odd at all, he just said he was sure I had a good reason for wanting it, and he knew I could take care of it better than he could."

"Look!" Harry interrupted the mounting tension in the air. Sirius and Lupin looked around, but Harry was nowhere in sight, "it works!" Harry's voice emanated from thin air, "wow! It really works!"

Sirius' frown faded at the joy in his godson's voice, "now look what you've started," he shot a mock glower at Lupin, "none of us will ever be safe again. And you are _not_ taking it to school, Harry," he added, looking around, but with no idea of where his godson was, "the last thing we need is another visit from Mrs Balder saying some invisible person has pissed on the headmaster or something."

Lupin snorted as he tried to repress a laugh, then said seriously, "I got you a present too."

Sirius quickly covered up his surprise, "really?"

"Yes. But it's outside," Lupin got up, "come on, I want to show you before it starts raining again."

Harry's head reappeared, floating in mid-air, "what is it?"

"Don't spoil the surprise!" Sirius put his hands over his ears as he got up and followed Lupin up the stairs, with Harry's head bobbing along behind them.

Lupin paused when they reached the door, while Harry took the invisibility cloak off and bundled it up in his arms. Lupin put his hand on the doorknob, "I hid it around the back of the house when I got here, and I had to get up in the middle of the night to bring it out front, so don't you go waking me up early tomorrow morning," he said to Sirius.

And then he opened the door and stepped back so Sirius could look out.

Sitting in the front yard, with the sunshine gleaming on each chrome facet, polished so that it looked as good as new, was an enormous black motorbike. It was huge: twice the size of a regular motorbike, and careful inspection would have revealed several strange mechanisms hidden on it that would not have been seen on any muggle motorbike.

Sirius inhaled so quickly it sounded as if he had been winded.

Like a sprinter in a race, he leapt down the front steps, shot across the lawn and threw himself over the seat of the motorbike as if he was a teenager again. Harry was almost certain he was kissing the leather seat, "my baby," he cried, "my darling. You've come back to me. Oh, I never thought I'd see you again."

Harry looked at Lupin, "I think that's a better welcome than he gave you," he said dryly.

"Well, that motorbike was more intimately connected to Sirius than I would ever have liked to be," Lupin replied with a wry smile, as they headed down the steps to join Harry's godfather, who was now stroking one great wheel of the motorbike as if it was the hair of a long-lost lover.

"How did you get it?" Sirius croaked, his eyes sparkling with tears, as Lupin approached, "I thought it was lost, or sold for scrap."

"No, just hidden in Mundungus Fletcher's cellar under a sheet for nearly a decade," Lupin said, chuckling, "when you disappeared, he laid claim to all of your belongings, since you were living in his basement at the time. He's told me for years that he never knew where that bike went, because he was hoping to sell it, I guess. But he didn't know the spell to start the ignition, so it never left the basement where you use to live. I've been trying to track the damn thing down for months now, and I finally found it about a week ago when I searched his house, on the pretext that I was bringing him a message from Dumbledore."

"But he's such a hoarder," said Sirius, wiping his eyes, "how did you convince him to give it to you?"

"I didn't," said Lupin, "I won it off him. In a game of Kings and Arseholes."

"You never," Sirius shook his shaggy head, one arm still draped protectively over the motorbike, "no one can beat Mundungus at that game, not unless they cheated."

"Well," said Lupin, folding his arms, "I did learn from the best."

Sirius snicked, then began to bellow with laughter, "I bet he wasn't expecting it from you!" he roared, "I know I wouldn't. Not honest old Lupin!"

He swung one leg over the motorbike, gripped the handles, bent down towards the fuel gauge and said something too quiet for Harry to catch. If the motorbike had been a horse, Sirius would have been whispering in its ear. As soon as the words had left his lips, there was a growl, then a roar, and the motorbike sprang to life. Sirius revved it up, and grinned at his godson, "Like a ride, Harry?"

Harry did not need to be asked twice. He handed the invisibility cloak to Lupin, then darted forward and touched the smooth leather seat. Sirius picked him up around the waist and lifted him right up onto the bike, so that Harry was sitting in front of him. Then his godfather kicked the throttle, and suddenly they were moving, the bike grunting with a noise like a pack of lions roaring, speeding out the gate, bouncing off the kerb and onto the street, and shooting away down the road like a meteorite.

Harry, his hair flying around his face, half-blinded by the wind in his eyes, clutching his godfather's jacket with all his strength, shouted at the top of his lungs, "this is amazing!"

And Sirius replied, "this is nothing! You wait to you see her _fly!_"

-------------------------------------------

TBC


	11. Stowaway

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

---------------------------------------------

A year had passed since Harry and Sirius had first arrived at number12 Grimmauld Place. So much had changed in that year that their lives before London – without friends, without magic, without Moony – seemed like a distant dream which Harry had now almost forgotten.

When the thirty-first of July arrived, so did Remus Lupin, who had been in and out of the Black house all summer. He had promised Sirius he would help him keep an eye on Harry in Diagon Alley, as this remained only the second of Harry's visits to the magical shopping street and Sirius was still paranoid about the possibility of someone recognising them.

Harry had already decided what he wanted for his birthday this year.

"A broomstick," he said firmly, when Sirius asked him that morning.

Sirius looked sceptical, "where are you going to fly a broomstick? Up and down the halls in front of my mother's portrait?"

"Lupin said I could come out to his old cottage in the country and practise there," Harry replied. He had already prepared all his arguments for this year's birthday present. Sirius looked at Lupin.

"Well, why couldn't he?" Lupin shrugged, warming his hands on a mug of coffee, "no one's going to see him way out there in the country, especially with the thick forest around the cottage. We can go there by floo powder any time. And I don't live there any more so there's no danger of – er, what happened last time," he finished.

"You're _both_ in on this conspiracy?" Sirius groaned.

"I _know_ I'll love it," Harry said, "remember? Dad used to take me flying when I was little. And I'm not scared of heights or anything."

"And I do think it's fundamentally wrong to deprive James Potter's son of flying lessons," Lupin added, "I know you think the same."

"And…" Harry began, but Sirius cut him off.

"Alright, alright, I can see when I'm beaten," Sirius waved his hand, "but _not_ an expensive one. And you may _not_ go to the cottage by yourself, only with me or Lupin. But you may fly it in the house if you're careful," he added.

---------------------------------------

While his godfather went to look at broomsticks, Lupin and Harry, the boy disguised by the same illusion spell Sirius had used the year before, went wandering through the shops of Diagon Alley. It was no less amazing for Harry than it had been a year ago, on his eleventh birthday. However, this time only half his attention was concentrated on the shops, the other half on the shifting crowd of witches and wizards around him. He was keeping one eye open for any flash of red hair or any other children, and one ear pricked for a familiar name.

"Oh, gran, really, I don't need a boggart-protecting amulet for Hogwarts, really I don't…"

Harry's head twisted towards the source of the voice. A round-faced boy and his grandmother were leaning over a display of "anti-dark magic talismans" set up in the corner of the apothecary's. Harry glanced back at Lupin, who was in deep conversation with the man behind the counter, inquiring about the price of Boomslang skin for his fifth-year class.

Harry shuffled over towards the display of talismans and said quietly to the boy and his grandmother, indicating the talismans, "those thing don't work anyway, I've tried them," he and Sirius had spent a week trying to get rid of a boggart they had found in a writing desk at Grimmauld Place before Lupin had come to visit and vanquished it with a single _riddikulus!_

"Oh, that's a pity," said the grandmother, who wore a fox-fur scarf and carried a large red handbag under her arm. She dropped the talisman back onto the display, "the things they try and sell to honest witches and wizards these days! I've half a mind to report them to the ministry. Thank you for the warning, young man."

"It's alright," said Harry, "what year are you at Hogwarts?" he asked casually, as if simply making conversation with the boy.

"Second," the boy said, looking at his feet. His fringe hung low over his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes. Apparently, he was not a fan of casual conversation. Or, more likely, Harry thought, he was frightened of Harry's scars. A lot of children couldn't even look him in the face when they first met him

"Now, Neville, don't be shy," the woman nudged her grandson and picked up the conversation for him, "you'd be in third year, would you, dear?" she said to Harry.

"Er, no, I'm home-schooled," Harry explained.

"Oh, that's just dreadful," the grandmother's eyes widened while the boy tugged on her sleeve and muttered, '_don't, gran…'_, "is it that your parents are scared of the war spilling over into Hogwarts? Because I can assure, there is no safer place than under the eyes of Albus Dumbledore!"

"Um, yeah, that's it," Harry said as convincingly as he could, "silly, huh? I was actually wondering, about Hogwarts…" what he was actually wondering was how you got to Hogwarts, but he couldn't think how to word this, and as his sentence trailed off, the boy looked past Harry and his eyes widened.

"Is that Professor Lupin?" his mouth fell open, "he's my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher! How weird…I sort of assumed he lived at Hogwarts all year round."

This seemed a pretty ridiculous thing to think, but Harry did not say so. The grandmother grabbed the boy's arm, "well, goodness! Why don't we go and say hello?"

Despite the reluctance on her grandson's face, the woman steered him over to where Lupin was just finishing up with the man behind the counter, Harry wandering behind them. Lupin saw the activity and turned, "why, hello Neville," he said kindly, "are your holidays going well?"

Neville nodded, still looking at his feet. His grandmother grabbed Lupin's hand and shook it smartly, "good morning, Professor. I'm Neville's grandmother. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Neville _always_ says you're his favourite teacher."

"Oh gran," Neville sighed, and Harry could not help feeling just a little bit sympathetic. He wished he could make the moment a little bit less awkward for the boy.

"I'm Harry," he said, offering his hand to Neville. The boy seemed rather surprised at this offer of friendship, but shook it warmly. Harry smiled at him as his grandmother began to chat to Lupin as if they had been old friends for years, "don't be embarrassed. Lupin's my uncle," he told Neville.

"Oh, really?" Neville visibly relaxed, "oh, okay. Well, I'm Neville Longbottom," he said, "what did you want to ask about Hogwarts before?"

"Oh, nothing, I was just curious," Harry said hastily, aware that Lupin was listening to their every word even though he seemed to be absorbed in his conversation with Neville's grandmother, "do you know a boy called Ron Weasley? I met him last year."

"Yeah, we share a dorm," said Neville, fiddling with his robe, "he's sort of my friend."

"Sort of?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Neville went a little pink, "well, there's only four boys in Gryffindor in our year, so I don't really have any friends in my dorm," he muttered to his toes, "but Ron always talks to me and stuff, which is nice of him."

"What's Gryffindor?" Harry asked, genuinely curious now.

Neville looked at Harry, "well, it's my house," and when Harry remained blank, "Hogwarts has four houses, you see, and everybody gets sorted into one of them when they first come. There's Hufflepuff, that's where I probably should have been," he sighed, "and Ravenclaw, that's for all the smart people, and Slytherin, but you wouldn't want to be in there. And there's Gryffindor, that's my house, it's supposed to be for people who are brave. But I'm not," he added miserably.

Harry's heart sunk. This was getting more and more complicated, "and there's only _four_ of you in Gryffindor?" he asked. He had assumed there would be hundreds of people at Hogwarts, like at his regular school.

"In second-year, yeah, but there's heaps more altogether," Neville nodded, "but there's only three girls in my year, including my friend Hermione. She should have been in Ravenclaw, she's so smart, she helps me with everything."

"Who decides what house you're in?" Harry asked.

"It's this hat," Neville said, frowning as if unsure of how to explain, "at the start of the year, they put it on your head, in front of the _whole_ school, and it decides where you'll be."

"Oh," Harry's heart sunk even further. A _hat_ decided your place at Hogwarts? In front of the whole school? Maybe there _was_ a good reason Sirius didn't want him attending.

"You spend all year with your house," Neville continued, "all your lessons and feasts. And you have a sort-of secret common room where you hang around with other people, and that's where the dormitories are and stuff. Only people from your house are allowed into your common room, nobody else can get in, there's prefects and passwords and everything. It's awful, it takes me ages to remember the passwords. And the names of the prefects."

"Oh," repeated Harry. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

However, before Neville could tell him more about how Hogwarts was run, his grandmother said to Lupin, "well, it was a pleasure, Mr Lupin. Now, Neville and I must go and pick up his robes from Madame Malkims. We had to get them repaired, don't you know, because Neville ripped so many holes in them during the year."

"Bye, Neville," said Harry, waving to the boy as he followed his grandmother out of the shop.

"Bye, Harry!" Neville called, then the door closed and he was gone.

Lupin looked at Harry, "do you recognise that boy?"

"From where?" Harry asked.

"From…" then Lupin stopped himself, "no, of course you wouldn't. It doesn't matter. Come along, I imagine your godfather must surely have picked a broomstick by now, if he hasn't been distracted by anything shiny."

-----------------------------------------------

Sirius had bought Harry a top-of-the-line Cleansweep Seven, and when they got back to Grimmauld Place, he could not resist giving Harry a quick lesson in the front yard, while Lupin sat on the doorstep, muttering about "Muggle neighbours…only have to look out the window…Statute of Secrecy, honestly, sometimes I wonder…"

"Now, usually if you're really flying you'll have the thing in your hand before you mount it, but I suppose there's no harm in knowing the basics. You put your right arm out like that – yes, just above the middle of the handle there – then say _up!_"

"Up!" echoed Harry, and the broom leapt into his hand at once. Sirius beamed at him.

"Perfect command," he said, "now, mounting a broom is a bit technical, I don't think I ever got it right. Grip it with both hands, don't let it lean, and leg over like that, that's right…"

"Bend your knees a little," Lupin called from the steps, "so you're in a slight crouch."

"Look who's talking, Mr 'Quidditch is for Morons like you, Prongs'," Sirius retorted, "and, besides, that's how James always used to do it."

"And it's also why James fell off his broom at the start of that Ravenclaw match in fifth year," Lupin shot back, "even after the coach told him not to."

"James fell off in fifth year because it was blowing a gale," Sirius argued.

"No, he kicked off too fast and he couldn't get a grip with his legs. So bend your knees, Harry, and don't listen to that idiot godfather of yours. I was the one who came to most of James' training sessions," Lupin said placidly.

"_I_ came to training too!" Sirius replied loudly.

"You came to training in fourth year, and only because you thought the keeper was good-looking. You didn't take your eyes off her once."

"Oh, really? And you think you had a better view, with your face glued to your book?"

"Hey, there's no need – oh! Harry, stop!"

Lupin leapt to his feet as Harry, sick of listening to the bickering, kicked off the ground and rose six feet into the air. He felt a great thrill swell through him, and urged the broom higher. This was easy! This was more than easy, this was _wonderful!_ A fierce joy bubbled up in his chest as he watched the faces of his two guardians grow smaller and paler. He was as high as the roof of the house, as high as the chimney-

"Get _back_ here, young man!" Sirius roared, while Lupin cupped his hands to his mouth and cried, "Muggles! _Watch for muggles!_"

But the broom was slowing, dragged down as if a heavy weight had been tied to its tail. Harry looked down to see Sirius pointing his wand upwards, clutching it with both hands and digging his heels into the ground, as if hauling on a long rope. Harry sighed and sunk back to earth. Sirius lowered his wand, releasing Harry of the summoning spell.

"Sorry," Harry said, trying not to meet the eyes of Lupin, who had his arms folded.

But all Sirius said was, "we'll have to work on your control. You were leaning with the breeze a bit."

--------------------------------------

The rest of the summer was a joyous blur. Harry spent most of his days out in the countryside near Lupin's cottage, honing his flying skills. Although Sirius rarely got leave off work, when he did, he always took Harry out to the cottage, which took a bit of cleaning to make it livable once more, and Lupin also did his share of the supervision. Lupin, who despite Sirius' assertion that the Professor had never liked Quidditch, seemed to know plenty about the game, taught Harry the rules, while his godfather helped him practise dodging bludgers and shooting goals by bewitching rocks to fly at him and throwing balls through hoops. While he flew, they told Harry endless stories about James' quidditch triumphs. They both seemed to be a bottomless well of anecdotes about Harry parents. Sirius had always found it difficult to talk about Lily and James, but now that Lupin was there to egg him on it seemed he wanted make it up for it by never _ceasing_ talking about them.

Sirius also took Harry flying on the motorbike, though only at night-time when darkness had fallen. They roared over London, so high and so fast it was scary, but the beauty of the sleeping city took Harry's breath away. Sirius promised to teach him to fly the motorbike as well.

Since neither of them could spend every day with Harry, Sirius finally relented and allowed his godson to spend a few days alone at the cottage, exploring the countryside on the broom and practising doing loops around tree branches. Harry enjoyed the time alone, which also gave him time to think, and plan.

But the end of the summer came at last. Sirius went back to work full time, and Harry began buying new pencils and exercise books in preparation of his return to school. Lupin packed up his trunk and began muttering about what he was going to teach his third-years now it was illegal to import Grindylows, and what to do about the damn Weasley Twins and their black market in confiscated items.

Early on the first morning of term, they saw Lupin off at the door to Grimmauld place. Harry hugged the Professor, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, "you'll come visit as soon as you can?" he sniffed, wiping away his tears.

"Hey, there's no need for that," Lupin put one arm around him, concerned at Harry's sudden outburst of emotion, "I'm not going away forever."

Harry nodded and the two of them waved as Lupin trod across the yard and down the street. As he disappeared around the corner, Harry went back into the house, "I'm going to go a read a book," he said. Sirius recognised his tone as the 'I want to be alone for a while' voice.

"That's okay, come down whenever you want," he said as he watched Harry shuffle away down the hall towards his bedroom. He hadn't seen his godson so gloomy for months. Lupin's absence must really be getting to him.

Sirius went down the kitchen, chased Kreacher out of the oven where the house-elf was curled up, twitching in his sleep, and started nailing up the shelves he had made for the pantry, since the old wood in the cupboard had finally given way and collapsed in a heap of tea-bags and cornflakes. When he was finished, it was getting late in the morning, so he decided that since Harry needed cheering up, he would make cheese toasties for lunch, which his godson always liked. When they were just about ready, he put two plates on the table and went up the stairs and into the hall.

He stopped outside his godson's bedroom and knocked on the door, "hungry, Harry? Lunch is nearly on the table."

Harry, probably absorbed in a book, did not answer. Sirius opened the door a crack, "you okay in there…?"

But the bed was unoccupied. Sirius pushed the door right open, looking around in confusion.

The room was empty. Sirius felt something grab his intestines and twist them. He stepped in the room, "Harry?" he said, his breath catching in his throat, "Kreacher! I command you to come at once!"

The house-elf appeared with a crack, "what is it master wants, _filthy trait that he is_…" he was muttering.

"Where's Harry? Has anyone been in the house? Tell me now, Kreacher!"

Kreacher squinted at Sirius through his grey, bloodshot eyes, and pretended to bow, "Kreacher has not seen the scarred half-breed, Master. No one else has been in the house but Master and the horrid werewolf. Kreacher would have seen to him, Kreacher sees all the filth that passes through my mistress' house…" he chattered on to himself.

Sirius went into the hall and began to run through the corridors of the house, calling for his godson. But he already knew, (though he denied it, though he could not believe it,) that Harry was gone. He was alone in the house, apart from Kreacher and the portraits.

The portraits…as he ran past the entrance hall for the third time, Sirius stopped and stared at the painting of his mother. The curtains were drawn back, but they were not flying and whirling as if in a high wind. His mother was sitting calmly, only the muscles of her face twitching in a demented manner, her hair still twisting of its own accord, and she was plucking at the fabric of her sleeve with distracted ferocity. But her screams were silenced, and upon her thin-lipped mouth was the tiny beginnings of a smile.

"Where did he go?" Sirius had to restrain himself from ripping at the portrait with his bare hands, "where is he?"

His mother laughed, a mad, wild sound, "it speaks to me! The monster that betrayed me, it speaks!"

"Tell me, you horrible wretch!" Sirius growled, "where is my godson?"

But his mother, her eyes wide with glee, "lost his little pet, that eyesore of a child, my lonely son has lost him! He asked me not to speak – he asked me for silence – so that he could leave the house without my disloyal son's knowing! And I was silenced, I was silenced, and so I was rid of him!" she began to laugh again and Sirius, snarling, drew the curtains over the cackling portrait.

His knees gave way, and he knelt, leaning his head against the stained wallpaper, bile rising in his throat. She must be lying – he couldn't trust her word – _why? Why would Harry leave?_ Sirius balled his fists, furious, horrified, as understanding dawned.

He knew where Harry was going. He was looking for answers, to the questions Sirius had never answered for him.

He was going to Dumbledore.

--------------------------------------------------

Molly Weasley threw her arms around her daughter and kissed her cheeks, "do be careful, Ginny! You must stick up for yourself, remember that, darling…"

"Don't worry, Mum, we'll look after her," George was hauling his own trunk in one hand and Ginny's in the other.

"Yeah, we'll take her under our wing, teach her how to _survive_," Fred grinned at his twin as he tried to stuff his robes into a third trunk. The Weasley family were standing on the platform in front of the huge scarlet steam train, as the last of the young witches and wizards climbed aboard, waving teary goodbyes to their families.

"If I hear that you two have you gotten your sister in trouble…in any way…oh, to think of how you might corrupt her…" Mrs Weasley seemed too inflamed by this thought to come up with a suitable punishment. She composed herself, "Percy, look after your sister," she said, looking at her prefect son, who was just heading in the direction of the blonde Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater.

"You can count on me, Mum," said Percy vaguely, his eyes on Penelope. He didn't seem to have heard what she had said.

Mrs Weasley sighed and turned to her last son, "_Ron_. I am putting _you_ in charge of your sister's wellbeing. You make sure she's safe and happy!"

"Aw, Mum," Ron grimaced, "what're Dean and Seamus gonna think if I've got a little girl trotting around with me?"

Fred nudged his brother, "I don't think they'll mind, somehow," he whispered loudly with a wink.

"No boys! She's eleven, for goodness' sake!" Mrs Weasley glared at Ron as if he had made the lurid suggestion, "no boys are to go _near_ Ginny! I don't care if they're your friends, if they're prefects, or if they're fifty years older than her – _none at all_."

"Going to make it very difficult for Professor Lupin and the others to teach her anything if they can't get near her," Ron muttered, low enough that his mother didn't catch it.

"I'll be _alright,_ Mum," Ginny gave her mother a quick hug, "I will, I promise."

"Alright, dear," Mrs Weasley sighed at last, "you better get on the train. I only wish your father was here to see you off – damn the ministry, I hate him working for the Defense Department, I can't believe they wouldn't even give him an hour off that darn project to say goodbye…"

"We'll write to him every day, Mum, I promise," Ron steered Ginny towards the door of the train. Fred and George has already vanished on board, and Percy and Penelope were boarding further down.

"I'll send you a million owls, Mum!" Ginny leaned out the door to wave as the whistle blew and the train began to move.

"Goodbye, goodbye – oh, take care! Be good!" but Mrs Weasley's words were lost in the myriad of other farewells from the parents and families around her, and the loud chugging of the train as it pulled away from the station, "I love you!"

The train was picking up speed, rattling away down the tracks, and soon was lost around the first bend. Mrs Weasley sighed, thinking of that day eight years ago when she had waved goodbye to Bill and Charlie, only to have them torn away from her by the violent actions of the Death Eaters. Looking older and more worn than she had a moment ago, she tightened her scarf and began to walk back towards Kings Cross.

------------------------------------------

"You should go sit with some other first-years," Ron suggested as they walked down the train, looking for a spare compartment. He had his eyes peeled for one of the other boys from his dormitory. He knew Seamus and Dean would already be together, but there was no one else to sit with except maybe Neville.

"Oh, Ron, no," Ginny stuck close to him, "I don't know _anybody_."

"Then go sit with Fred and George," his friendship with Dean and Seamus was tenuous enough as it was without a little sister getting in the way.

"Maybe I will. But we'll just see what Mum says when I tell her," his sister threatened. Ron was not really listening. He'd just noticed his fellow Gryffindor second-years in a compartment together, but they were sitting with Lavender Brown, Pavarti Patil and her Ravenclaw sister, Padma. Ron opened the door and stuck his head in.

"Any room…?" he said hopefully.

Dean grinned at him, and at Ginny, but Seamus looked sheepish. Possibly it was because Lavender was sitting very close to him and she said, "no, sorry, we're all full."

Ron glared at her and closed the door. He'd have to find an empty compartment now, or sit with his brothers, or with Neville Longbottom, who was bound to have room. But Neville was probably sitting with that horrible girl, Hermione, who drove Ron nuts. She was the _last_ person he wanted to sit next to…the very last…

He passed a compartment that was empty except for one person, and opened the door, motioning for Ginny to catch up with him.

"Anyone else sitting in here?" he asked the boy who was curled on the seat in the corner, apparently asleep. Ron didn't recognise him, so must be a first-year, though he looked a bit old for it. And he had the most awful scars around his right eye. Ron frowned. Didn't he know those scars?

"Have you found us a seat?" Ginny pushed up beside him, panting. Ron turned his frown on her, his train of thought lost, and then looked back at the boy.

He was gone. Ron nearly jumped. The compartment was empty. Without taking his eyes from the spot where the boy had been, Ron said to Ginny, "did you see that boy?"

"What boy?" Ginny looked around, then pushed past him into the compartment, "come on, I wanna sit down already," she tried to lift up her trunk, but wasn't quite tall enough to reach the luggage rack. Ron came in and helped her put their baggage up, and the two siblings sat down opposite each other. But Ron could not quite bear to sit on the spot where he had seen the vanishing boy.

"You better have some friends by tomorrow, I'm not coming to class with you," said Ron grumpily.

Ginny just looked nervous, "what if I'm not in Gryffindor? Can I still come and visit you and Fred and George in Gryffindor tower?"

"No, you'll have to stick in your own common room like a good Hufflepuff," Ron shot back, "and don't _worry_ so much, Ginny. You'll be in Gryffindor like the rest of us, I promise."

Ginny nodded, but the nervousness did not leave her face, "I was just thinking – about Mum, suggesting we try and go to France – she said Bill might be able to get me enrolled at Beauxbatons, only I don't speak French… but wouldn't it be safer there?"

"Honestly," Ron told his sister, leaning back and staring out the window, "there's absolutely nothing to worry about. Hogwarts is safer than anywhere else in the world. Nothing happened to_ me_ last year, did it? And nothing bad is going to happen this year, either. So just stop thinking about it."

----------------------------------------

TBC


	12. The Invisible Boy

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

--------------------------------------------

The train journey was a long but uneventful one. Ginny had her fears relieved somewhat by a visit from Fred, George and their friend Lee Jordan, who threw their arms around her and told her about some of their adventures at Hogwarts and how easy things would be for her now that she had them to protect her. Lee nearly sat down on the spot where the vanishing boy had been sitting, but Ron yelled a warning at him, and told him (in a flash of inspiration) that that was where Draco Malfoy had soiled himself the year before. Lee hastily sat on the other side of Ginny.

At last, once the twins and Lee had left to go bother Percy and Ginny was dozing quietly with her mouth hanging open, the train began to slow and came to a stop at the Hogsmeade station. Students poured out onto the platform.

"Come on, Ginny," said Ron, standing over his sister while she yawned and stretched like a lanky kitten. As he stepped out into the corridor, Ron glanced back into the compartment and thought he saw – for the briefest instant – what looked like a sneaker-clad foot, floating in mid air before stepping down onto the floor, then vanishing once more. He shook his head and herded his sister down the corridor.

Out on the platform, he pointed Ginny towards the towering figure of Rubeus Hagrid, then went on by himself. The carriages that took them to the castle were waiting not far away, lacking any apparent horses to pull them. He saw Dean and Seamus get into a carriage with Lavender and Parvarti and decided he didn't really want to join them. He scanned the crowd for another friendly face, and saw Ernie MacMillion, a Hufflepuff he often sat with in class, shutting the door on a second carriage, which pulled away into the night. He looked around for Fred and George, meaning to join them, wherever they were, but they must have already driven away.

The only other carriage left was the one over to his right. Ron saw Neville Longbottom climbing into it, trying to balance his toad on his head as he got in and nearly decapitating the poor thing on the frame of the doorway. Well, Neville wasn't so bad, Ron thought as he headed towards the last carriage.

There had been fresh rain, and the mud beneath his feet was thick and slippery. Ron glanced down to make sure he didn't skid over in a puddle, and noticed, to his surprise, that there were a pair of footprints keeping up with him – but no body to fill them. The footprints were simply appearing out of nowhere, a few feet to Ron's right.

Suddenly they stopped, not far away from the carriage, and Ron heard, very distinctly, a voice say quietly, "what _are_ those horse things?" Then it was suddenly silenced, as if the person who had uttered the words had realised someone was listening to them.

Ron did know what they meant by horse things – there were no horses in sight – but he did not like being followed by a person he couldn't see, be they a death eater, a ghoul or a harmless ghost. He called loudly, "who's there? Come on, show yourself!"

There was no answer. Ron raised a fist at the area where the footsteps had stopped and made a grim face, just so the ghoul knew who they were dealing with. Then Neville called out to him, breaking the silence, "Hi, Ron! You can come in our carriage!"

Ron waved to Neville and climbed into the carriage. The footprints in the mud followed him up to it. Ron left the door open while he sat down, still watching to see what the footprints would do next. As Ron had expected, the carriage tipped slightly as if someone was stepping up into it, so lightly he would not have noticed if he had not been waiting for it. The seat next to Neville sunk slightly, as if someone was sitting on it: but there was, of course, no one in sight.

"What are you waiting for? Close the door," said a sharp voice. Ron turned and saw that he was sitting next to Hermione Granger, her hair looking, if possible, even more bushy than it had the year before, "the carriage won't start until you shut the door," she continued, glaring at him.

"I know that," Ron snapped in reply, and he slammed the door closed. He gritted his teeth, determined not to say something rude to Hermione. She was such an insolent, stuck-up, know-it-all little witch. He refused to even look at her. He kept his eyes on the seat where the unseen person was sitting. He didn't know if they meant any harm yet, but his hand was gripping the wand in his pocket, just in case.

"Did you have a good holiday, Neville?" Hermione asked.

Neville nodded, taking his toad off his head and putting it in his lap, "yeah, Gran and I went to Scotland to visit my first-cousin-once-removed, on my Mum's side. She's a squib, so Gran always feels very sorry for her and goes to see her. But she's very rich, because she writes books."

"Oh, how nice," said Hermione, "did you see anything interesting in Scotland?"

Neville shrugged, "not really, we rented a car and I get very car-sick, so I slept during most of the journeys. But I did see Professor Lupin in Diagon Alley the other day, that was interesting. What about you, Ron?" he asked.

Ron shrugged, "my brother came over from France."

"Oh, really?" Neville's eyes widened, "but wasn't he arrested last year?"

"That's right," Hermione interrupted, "I remember seeing him in the _Daily Prophet_ after he got out, they interviewed him. He was in that protest, the one that got attacked by werewolves."

"Yeah, that was ages ago," Ron replied, trying to restrain a sneer, "he's working for Gringotts now."

Nobody talked for a while. Neville asked Hermione how her holidays had been, and she started talking about some muggle sport called skiiing that she had done with her parents. Ron sat in silence, still staring at the spot where he was quite certain somebody unseen was sitting. Well, he was going to catch them, sooner or later. They couldn't get away from Ron Weasley.

The carriage slowed and bounced to a stop, and the sounds of the other students disembarking met their ears. Neville put his hand to his mouth, looking very green, "ugh, I hate these bumpy rides…"

"Oh, no, Neville, don't be sick…" Hermione cried, and Ron glanced at the other boy. In that brief moment of inattention, the door of the carriage was suddenly thrown open and the carriage bounced as if someone had just jumped out of it. Ron, snarling, leapt out onto the ground, but there was no mud to reveal any footsteps and a huge crowd of Hogwarts students to cover the sound of someone running. The invisible person had got away. Ron swore loudly.

Behind him, Hermione was helping Neville out of the carriage. Neville had not thrown up, but he was still looking pretty green.

"Come on, you'll feel better once you're inside and the feast has started," said Hermione to her friend, leading him up towards the warm glow of the entrance hall. Ron followed them, feeling frustrated and grumpy.

-------------------------------------

Ginny, of course, was sorted into Gryffindor, and during the delicious feast that followed, Ron forgot about the invisible person. He sat next to Dean, who seemed to feel guilty about not inviting Ron into their compartment on the train, and the two of them chatted on about their holidays and the abysmal performance of the Moutohoro Macaws, a Quidditch team who had just finished a tour of Britain. Muggleborn Dean was still new to Quidditch, but he seemed to be picking up on the game pretty fast.

Finally the last of the desserts were cleared away and Ron and Dean, both feeling sleepy and full, joined the crowd of students flowing out of the entrance hall. Percy was standing to attention at the entrance to Gryffindor tower, calling the new password to everyone who passed. Some people were settling down in the common room to talk to their friends, but Ron and Dean joined the majority of students who were heading straight to bed.

Their trunks were already at the ends of the four-poster beds, and Ron barely had time to get into his pyjamas before he fell into the bed and pulled the covers over himself. Before his eyes closed, he heard Neville's snores and Dean and Seamus wishing each other goodnight, and then darkness closed over him.

------------------------------------------

He was dreaming about the Weird Sisters. They were playing a song in the Hogwarts greenhouses, but it was so loud the glass was shattering and falling all around him, floating down very slowly, like deadly snowflakes. Ron ran towards the singers, trying to tell them to stop playing. The drummer had wild bushy, brown hair, and she was wearing Hogwarts robes and Professor Mcgonagall's glasses. "You've lost your toads and all your horses," she said, "you better go find them. You've lost them." She rapped Ron on the shoulder with her drumstick, and while he was shouting at her that he didn't _own_ any horses, there _weren't_ any horses, because they were invisible horses, the tapping on his shoulder turned to shaking and he awoke with a jolt.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Ron rolled over, pushing the sheet away from his face. But there was no one there. Still half-asleep, he blinked and rubbed his forehead. He could feel a hand on his shoulder, but obviously, he must be dreaming. There was no one in sight. He couldn't think, he was too tired…

"Can I trust you?" hissed a voice. Ron sat bolt upright, completely awake.

"Who's there?"

"Can I trust you?" repeated the voice, "I'll show myself if you say yes."

Ron's mouth was half-open, staring at the empty air in front of his face from which the mysterious voice was emanating.

"Who are you?" he asked, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice.

There was silence for a moment. Then the voice said, very reluctantly, "my name is Harry Potter."

The named sounded familiar, but Ron was not thinking about names, "you can trust me, you can," he said, "just stop being invisible. It's scary!"

A pause. And then, quite slowly, like a curtain falling away from a window, a boy appeared in front of Ron's eyes, bundling a silvery cloth into his lap. Ron's eyes widened as he recognised an invisibility cloak.

The boy was sitting on Ron's bed, his feet on the ground as if ready to flee, and he had leaned forward a little to shake Ron. He was quite thin and small, and wearing muggle clothes that looked as if they were probably second-hand, or at least very well worn. His hair was black and tangled, and he wore round owl-eyed glasses through which he peered at Ron with troubled eyes. There were deep scars around his right eye.

"Christ," swore Ron, "I remember you. I saw you in Diagon Alley last year – but your hair was different then."

"It was a disguise," the boy explained.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so," Ron shook his head, "Tonks and my brother Charlie went looking for you, d'you know them? But they came back from France and wouldn't talk about you any more, they just said they'd gone to rescue Lupin. I always thought you must be dead or something."

"My godfather made them promise they'd never tell anyone I was still alive," the boy said sadly, "he wouldn't let me go to Hogwarts. So this year, I snuck onto the train. Thanks for not letting that boy with the dreadlocks sit on me," he added.

Ron shrugged, "well, Lee's a heavy guy. I didn't even know if you were really there or not, I thought I might of imagined you. But what are you doing _here_? How'd you get into the dormitory?"

"Your brother, the prefect," said Harry, "I just asked him for the password. He was giving it to everyone. I've been hiding under your bed for hours."

"Hey, that's just rude!" Ron looked scandalised, "you could have been a murderer or something!"

"I'm not," Harry shuffled away a little, "I just didn't know where else to go."

"Well, don't go sneaking around like a criminal, for one thing!" Ron growled, "I might've hexed your ears off. You've got a heap of explaining to do, mate. Why the heck are you following me around, for starters?"

Harry shrugged, "I sort of know Charlie, and I remembered you from last year. I just needed somewhere to sleep. I'm so tired," he yawned, "the floor under your bed is really uncomfortable."

Ron glared, then took one of the pillows and thrust it at Harry, "there's a quilt folded up at the end of the bed, you can have that. But you better stay out of sight, and keep your voice down," he added, as Neville snored loudly.

Harry smiled, "thank you."

"It's no problem," muttered Ron, "now you better start talking. Why do you have to sneak into Hogwarts? Why won't your godfather let you come? And why are you so eager not to be seen, anyway?"

Harry smoothed the invisibility cloak in his lap, "I don't really know. That's why I came to Hogwarts, I mean. I don't know _why_ Sirius – my godfather – doesn't want me to come here, all I know is that we've been running and hiding since I was just a little kid. He doesn't even like people to know my name. And it's all something to do with Dumbledore. So I thought, this year, I'm coming to Hogwarts whether he likes it or not, and if _he_ won't tell me the truth – well, I'll just go ask Dumbledore myself, then," Harry's face grew fierce.

Ron listened to this story in silence, "are you going to go find Dumbledore tomorrow?" he asked.

Harry looked a little frightened, "can you help me hide? I don't want anyone to know I'm here, until I've talked to Dumbledore. I thought, maybe you could find him for me?"

Ron made a face, "I don't know how you're going to stay hidden in a school like Hogwarts. Word gets around pretty fast, and there's no where you can just…I dunno, be alone. 'Cept maybe the toilets. But I can't imagine you'd want to hide there," he laughed. He was getting into the swing of things now. He felt like an auror, an undercover spy protecting an escaped prisoner from Death Eaters. It was exciting. Though he knew he should probably go straight to Professor McGonagall, he wanted to help Harry hide. He wanted the boy to be his secret.

Neville gave another loud snore, "anyway, you grab that quilt and get some sleep," Ron shrugged, leaning back onto his side and pulling the covers up, "in the morning we'll see what we can do."

Harry nodded. He took the quilt from the end of the bed and shook the invisibility cloak out, pulling it over himself. Ron listened to him wriggling around under the bed and then settling down. As for himself, he didn't think he'd ever get to sleep knowing he had a mysterious fugitive right underneath him. But before long his eyes drifted closed of their own accord and he remembered nothing more.

----------------------------------------------

Harry took longer to drift off. He was more comfortable with the warm quilt wrapped around him and the thick, soft pillow under his head. And, goodness knew, he'd slept in worse places than under a bed before – when he was young, and he and Sirius had lived wherever they could, he'd fallen sleep on wooden floors, in doorways, even on tree roots – but never alone, without Sirius' warm arm under hid head.

It seemed like a million years ago that he had left number twelve Grimmauld Place, begging the portrait of Mrs Black not to make a sound, and very surprised when she had obeyed. Hidden under his cloak, carrying a small bag of food and clothes on his back, he had followed Lupin onto a bus and off it again at Kings Cross station. He had watched the DADA teacher step through a brick wall, and after some frantic panic, followed, and found himself faced by a glorious red steam train.

He had nearly lost his nerve, then, and gone running back to Grimmauld Place. The last time he had seen this train, Tonks had been eleven years old and Death Eaters had killed people, all because of Harry. But after nearly being run over by three separate luggage trollies, he had finally struck up the courage to slip onto the train, find an empty compartment, and take off his invisibility cloak. He'd settled down to sleep, but then he had been awoken by a boy asking 'anyone else sitting in here?' and had pulled the cloak back over himself. Then he had recognised the red hair and the long nose, and begun to plan.

Now he bit his lip, wishing he could jump up and go and find Lupin at once. He knew Lupin was in the castle somewhere. Harry felt so lost and bemused, surrounded by so many young witches and wizards his own age, it was like being in a raging river. He needed to hear a familiar voice and see Lupin's comforting smile.

But Lupin would tell Sirius he was here, and Sirius would be at Hogwarts like a shot, and then Harry would never get to talk to Dumbledore. It was frustrating, but whatever he did, he must _not_ let Lupin know he was in the castle, or anyone else who might reveal him. Staying hidden was such a habit anyway that he knew he could easily slip into this new role. And he had Ron to help him.

Ron – Harry still didn't know how far he could trust the boy. He barely knew him, even if he was a brother of Charlie. What if Ron went and told the teachers about Harry? Would Ron really help him find Dumbledore? Harry just didn't know enough about the boy to gauge how he would act. But he _wanted_ to trust Ron. He liked Ron at once. Harry had never wanted to be friends with someone so much before. And he remembered that when he had met Ron in Diagon Alley, the boy had looked at Harry's scars and said 'Wow', and _smiled_. No one had ever done that before.

He would have to trust Ron. He needed someone who knew their way around Hogwarts, who could show Harry where to go and help him find Dumbledore.

Harry rolled over, but there wasn't much room under the bed and his shoulder kept scraping on the slats that held the mattress up. The invisibility cloak, which was wrapped right over Harry, kept tickling his face and made it kind of hard to breath. He tried to ignore it, focussing on his exhaustion and his need for sleep. He also needed the toilet rather badly, but he could hold on until the morning. And he was so hungry. The food he had put in his bag was not very substantial, so he'd hardly eaten anything since breakfast that morning, with Sirius and Lupin, at Grimmauld Place.

He hoped Sirius was not too furious with him. He had left his Godfather a letter explaining that he was safe and that he could look after himself, but not saying where he was going, though he suspected Sirius would guess pretty quickly. Perhaps Sirius would understand when he read Harry's letter. Ron might even have an owl, so that Harry could send Sirius another letter tomorrow, assuring him that he was not in any danger. Yes, Harry thought, that would be best. His godfather might not agree with Harry, but hopefully when he got a letter he would at least not worry too much.

With this thought, Harry's mind finally drifted away and he fell asleep, the invisibility cloak fluttering as he breathed.

Harry had not seen Kreacher slip into his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. He had not thought to lock the room after he had left. He had not seen Kreacher pick up the letter which he had left on his bed, with Sirius' name printed at the top. He had not seen the house-elf run his bloodshot eyes over the words, processing their meaning even if he could not read very well, then screw the letter up and hobble away, chuckling to himself.

So Harry did not know that Sirius had not got his letter, that Sirius was beside himself with fears for Harry's safety, that he was already preparing to depart in search of his errant godson. Harry slept on, not knowing that he was walking towards the one man his godfather wished him far away from, not knowing that he was making friends who would defend him whatever happened, and that enemies were already mustering who would hunt him wherever he went.

Harry slept on.

-------------------------------------

TBC


	13. HouseElves and Eavesdroppers

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

--------------------------------------------

Something was moving around Harry's feet. Slowly he opened his eyes, and again came the strange jabbing around his ankles. It was moving up his leg. Harry shot awake and rolled over, gasping as he snatched up his wand, which he had left resting beside his hand.

There was a creature of some kind crawling across the ground, but it had frozen as it heard Harry's gasp. It was holding a dustpan in one hand and a bristled brush in the other, with which it had been stabbing curiously at Harry's invisible leg. It had two huge, semi-luminous eyes which glinted in the faint light, but Harry could see very little else about it.

"What ghostie is this, Nudy?" the creature spoke. Harry stiffened and tried to repress the fear welling up in him. He had no room to manoeuvre if the creature attacked him, and his mind was devoid of spells. The creature continued to mutter to itself, "not ghostie, not beastie, so what is it, all in the way of Nudy's cleaning?"

"Go away!" hissed Harry, "leave me alone!"

The creature gave a frightened little cry and disappeared with a crack. Harry expected it to come back with a pack of friends, and he gripped his wand tighter. But the minutes passed and he could hear nothing but the bed creaking as Ron rolled over in his slumber. He shook his head, wondering what on earth had just happened, then lay down again and went back to sleep.

--------------------------------------------

Ron, still lying on his covers, leaned over and looked under the bed, his head dangling upside-down. It did not look as if there was anything under there but an old sock and a lot of dust. Perhaps he had _dreamed_ the strange boy? Surely not. He brought his arm down and poked at the empty air, and, to his surprise and delight, felt the resistance of soft fabric.

"Harry," he whispered, "hey, wake up," he poked harder. After a few moments, he heard a rustle, and the invisibility cloak was drawn back to reveal Harry's head, blinking sleepily. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on, and they were dangling from one ear. He put them back on his face and peered at Ron.

"Oh," he said, "I really am here. I was wondering if I'd dreamed everything in the night."

"Funny that," said Ron. Harry watched his red head vanish, and then a moment later, Ron's bare feet and too-short pyjama pants were lowered onto the floor and he knelt to help pull Harry out from under the bed.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, yawning and clutching the invisibility cloak around him like a blanket so that only his head and one arm could be seen.

"I dunno. Early," said Ron, pulling on a jersey, "come on, let's go down to the common room before anyone else wakes up."

"Won't someone see me?" said Harry, following the back of his new friend's head.

"Well, what have you got that cloak for?" Ron said over his shoulder as they headed down the stairs, and Harry remembered he still had the invisibility cloak pulled around him. He lifted it up and vanished completely.

The common room was empty, the rosy morning sun shining through the high windows of Gryffindor tower and the grate full of cold ashes. Harry tried to take in everything at once, the squashy armchairs, the sofas that sagged from the weight of hundreds of students past, the tables with so many layers of graffiti they looked as if they were covered in insects, but it was like being in some strange land. It boggled him. Ron settled himself on a maroon sofa with stuffing popping out of the cushions, and Harry sat down on the armrest, still too nervous to get comfortable.

"So," said Ron, "you want hiding."

"I just don't want anyone to know I'm here," Harry explained, "not any of the teachers, or the students, or anyone. I wouldn't even have revealed myself to you, except that I don't know my way around. And besides, I have to get food somehow."

"Hmm," Ron seemed to consider this, "maybe we can find an old classroom that no one uses any more, and I'll get some blankets and things and we'll set you up camp there. I'll ask my brothers where the kitchens are, then you can go and get food by yourself."

"How many brothers have you got?" Harry asked. He could not keep track of all the Weasleys yet. He'd only counted five yesterday, but perhaps there were more lurking around the school, a whole network of red-heads hidden around every corner.

"Three at Hogwarts, plus Bill and Charlie who you must know, and Ginny, my sister," said Ron, and his face suddenly lit up, "you know what we should do? Talk to my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin. He's really nice, I'm sure he'll help hide you…"

"Er, no," Harry shook his head, then remembered Ron couldn't see him, "Lupin, of _all_ people, must not know I'm here."

"Why not?" Ron seemed crestfallen that his idea had been rejected, "we can trust him, I know we can. Everyone likes him."

"He's my – well, he's _like_ my uncle," explained Harry. He was so used to telling people Lupin really was related it seemed odd to debunk it, "he lives with me during the summer. He's bound to tell my godfather where I am as soon as he sees me."

"Oh," Ron made a face, "you really make things difficult, don't you? Well, I'll keep an eye out for an empty classroom then. Perhaps I could tell Flitwick I want somewhere to practise stunning spells – on second thoughts, better make it cheering charms or something nice like that – and then he could tell me which classroom isn't in use. We'll pick one near the kitchens, get the house-elves to bring us some bedding…"

"House elves?" asked Harry, nearly losing his balance on the sofa armrest, "there aren't house-elves here, are there?"

"Of course," said Ron, "who do you think does our laundry and things?"

Realisation suddenly dawn on Harry, "so _that's_ what woke me up last night! There was a house-elf under your bed in the night," he told Ron.

"Oops, I hadn't thought of that," the red-haired boy made an apologetic face, "sorry. But I suppose they do clean up whenever we're asleep. That's what they're for, after all."

Harry tried to figure this out, "But…so they don't, you know, cause trouble, and steal things, and throw stuff at you when you're trying to do your homework?"

Ron laughed, "you must be thinking of _poltergeists_. House-elves are the little green things that bow and do the household chores. They _live_ to obey humans. I've never heard of a house-elf that caused trouble! They're the most well-behaved creatures on earth."

"Not the one I know," Harry tried to process this new perspective, "but Sirius always said he was rotten. He's always calling me a scar-face and trying to put poison in our dinner. Once I caught him trying to eat my spell-books."

Ron laughed even harder, clutching his side, "I don't know where you live," he gasped through his laughter, "but I want to come over and visit. Anyway," he recovered himself and grew serious once more, "I'm afraid I don't have a clue how to find Dumbledore, but he must be somewhere in the castle. But, you know what…" he suddenly brightened, "we should ask the house-elves where we can hide you. They're bound to know!"

"Oh, I don't know…" said Harry hesitantly, "have you ever…?"

"It can't hurt," said Ron, jumping up, "after all, house elves are the best secret-keepers in the world. They'll never reveal you if we ask them not to."

He stood straight, cleared his throat, and said, a little self-consciously, "house elf! I…er…I summon you!"

Ron waited expectantly, but nothing happened. After a moment, Harry said, "maybe they're all busy cleaning out the bathrooms."

"No, no, a house-elf has to come when you call, I've seen people do it," Ron waved his hand dismissively, "house-elf!" he said, "Ron Weasley summons you!"

There was still no sign of any result. Ron shook his head, "maybe I'm not they're master or something. But I've seen _Percy_ summon the Hogwarts elves, to clean up a mess Fred and George made once. Oh, bum!" he sat down angrily.

"Try calling them by name," Harry suggested, "I mean, they probably don't know which one you're talking to. Right now, they're all looking at each other, going '_you_ go and see what he wants!' 'No, _you_ go!'" He put on a squeaky voice like the house-elf he had seen in the night.

"But I don't know their names," said Ron miserably.

"Nudy," said Harry suddenly.

"What'd you call me?" Ron bristled.

"No, that's the name of the house-elf I saw last night. Nudy!" Harry cleared his throat, and called loudly, "Nudy! Ron Weasley summons you!"

"Nudy!" Ron joined in, "here, house-elf…"

And, with a crack that made them both jump, a green, wizened little creature popped into existence in front of the couch. Around it's thin frame was a tea-towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, which it wore like a toga. It had a nose that drooped between its two huge yellow eyes like a very floppy sausage. It was a far cry from the filthy, hairy Kreacher that Harry had previously used as his model for house-elves.

"Good morning, Mr Weasley, sir," the house-elf bowed low, "it is not usual for good students to call on we loyal house-elves. Is there something you is needing?"

Ron, looking a little taken aback at being bowed to, took a moment to reply. Invisible Harry nudged him to wake him up, and Ron jumped as if someone had let off a gun by his ear, "er, yes," he said, "Nudy, I need you to find me a place, like a classroom, where I could hide without being detected by any students or teachers in the castle, and where I can live comfortably. Um. Yes, that's what I need."

Nudy, still bowed so low that his dangling nose was touching the carpet, said in a voice that Harry thought was laced with a little reluctance, "and why, may Nudy ask, would Mr Weasley need such a place?"

"Here, now!" Ron sounded dismayed, "house-elves don't question their masters!"

"Nudy is most apologetic," the house-elf raised his head, "Nudy did not mean to offend Mr Weasley. But Nudy is a good house-elf and Nudy is not participating in any bad deeds, and besides, Mr Weasley is _not_ Nudy's master."

Ron grumbled, "it's not for anything dangerous," he said, "I just need somewhere safe for a friend to…er…take a rest. But it's not for any 'bad deeds'. I'm not even disobeying a teacher. _Really_, Nudy."

Nudy shuffled a little, "then, Nudy will tell Mr Weasley where such a place can be found. It is called the 'come and go room', Mr Weasley, or the Room of Requirement, and all us house-elves know it, but not many others, and they does not use it except by accident. It is always there, but only when a person is most needing it, and then it gives them what it is they is needing."

"Go on," said Ron eagerly, "where is this room? How do I get into it?"

The house-elf coughed, apparently still reluctant to reveal such important information to Ron. But at last he said, "Nudy will show Mr Weasley. Would he like to go now?"

---------------------------------------------

"This place is _perfect_," said Harry, pulling off his cloak and sinking into the feathery bed in the corner of the room. Nudy had disappeared with a crack once he had explained to Ron how you entered the Room of Requirement. He and Harry had walked up and down the corridor in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times, both rather sceptical about this mysterious room. But then, to their relief, a door had suddenly unfolded before their eyes, and within was just as Nudy had promised.

Ron looked at his watch, "I gotta get back to the dormitory," he said, "my classes start today. You'll just stay here?"

Harry's heart sunk a little, and he felt a little twist of jealousy. Ron would be going to learn magic, with other young wizards, while Harry, despite everything, was still stuck in a little room by himself. But he couldn't blame Ron for that, "yeah, I'll just be in here," he said, glancing around, "I wish I had something to read, at least."

Ron pointed at a bookshelf that had sprung up across the room, "and Hogwarts doth supply," he grinned, and Harry couldn't help smiling as he went to inspect the books, which were, of course, perfect for him.

"I'll come visit you at lunch," said Ron, opening the door, "I don't know if the room will supply food, so I'll bring you something to eat and drink. I guess if you want anything else, I can try and get that, too."

"Thanks," said Harry, and he really meant it, "I really appreciate all this."

Ron shrugged, "it's no problem. I'm glad to help. And also," he went a little pink, "I really hope you do get to come to Hogwarts," he cleared his throat in embarrassment, "See you later!" And with that, he was gone, and the door snicked shut.

Harry chose a book about magical philosophy and leant back onto the bed. He hoped that they would be able to find Dumbledore soon.

----------------------------------------

Ron returned about three hours later, by which time Harry was thoroughly bored and beginning to experiment with the limits of what the Room would provide. He had managed to have it conjure a large phoenix, but was disappointed to find it was only a fake, stuffed model of a phoenix, when there came a knock on the door and a the boy poked his red head around the edge of the door.

"Hey, you hungry?" Ron said, panting as he entered the room. He was holding the lap of his robes like a bag, "whew, that was close. Percy tried to follow me to find out where I was going with all this food."

He tipped his robes onto a table which had appeared not far away. Out spilled a number of squashed pastries, apples, and a bottle of pumpkin juice.

"Starving, thanks," Harry tucked into the food at once. He had now exhausted his own supply of food and his stomach was already rumbling in protest, "but you got away?"

"Percy's easy to escape, he's just difficult to lie to," said Ron, picking up one of the apples and taking a bite, "so it's not that hard to give him the slip. You just yell, 'look at that, Perce!' and then run like the dickens," he grinned through a mouthful of apple.

They ate their way through the lunch Ron had brought, and then Ron began to question him about his life. The red-haired boy was obviously fascinated by Harry's fugitive status and his godfather's paranoid attitude.

"But _why?_" he asked, "I mean, I'd understand if _he_ was a criminal and the Ministry was after him, but why is it so important no one finds out about you?"

Harry, who had not told Ron that he was a werewolf, had no answer, "that's what I'm going to ask Dumbledore," he said.

"So where are your parents, anyway?" Ron asked. He had forgotten what Charlie and Tonks had told him about Harry the year before, "maybe they're the ones your godfather are hiding from. Do you think he stole you from them?"

Harry put the pastry he was chewing back on the table, "no," he said softly, "my parents are dead. You-know-who killed them when I was four years old."

Ron was silent for a minute, "oh," he said finally, "I'm sorry, mate, I really am."

"It's okay," said Harry, "I mean, Sirius has always been the best Mum and Dad I could have anyway. When I got old enough to really understand what had happened, I found it didn't matter that much any more."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, I guess…I don't know what kind of life I would have had if my parents hadn't died. But I know I wouldn't trade my life with Sirius for anything, especially not something I know nothing about. Does that make sense?"

"I dunno," Ron made a face, "I don't know what I'd do if Professor McGonagall came up to me one day and told me Mum and Dad were dead, like she had to do for Hannah Abbot last year."

"It wasn't like that," said Harry sadly. He did not know why he was confiding these memories with Ron. But it just felt right, "he killed them in front of me. Dad first, and then Mum, standing in front of me."

Ron put his hand to his mouth. There was no pity on his face, or revulsion, just sadness, and a wordless longing to help in some way. After a moment had lowered his hand, but he still didn't say anything.

"Anyway," said Harry, "that's all old news now. Have you seen Charlie recently? I wish I could talk to him and Tonks again, but I haven't seen them for ages."

"Yeah," Ron sounded as if he was pulling himself out of a deep sleep, "yeah, he's still working in that bar in Diagon Alley, but they've finally given him a permit to go to Romania. He's going to go work with dragons over there."

"That's great," said Harry, knowing how difficult getting such a permit was.

"Yeah, he's real pleased, only he's kind of sad, because Tonks isn't coming with him," said Ron, "I mean, she's not his girlfriend," Ron laughed, "Charlie doesn't swing that way. But he asked her if she wanted to come with him anyway, because they've been such good friends for so long. Bill and Iolanthe told the ministry they were married, so that Iolanthe could go to France with Bill. Charlie asked Tonks if she wanted to do the same thing, lie and pretend they were married, and then she could live in Romania with him, and she said no, she wanted to stay in England and finish her auror training," Ron shook his head, "mad, if you ask me. But she always has been."

"Oh, well, I suppose it's her choice," said Harry, "I think maybe I'd like to be an auror, too. Sirius was one, after all."

Ron's eyes boggled, "be an _auror?_" he gasped, "well, yeah, we all dream about being heroic and fighting dark wizards and so on – but, Harry, you'd have to be a nutter like Tonks to actually do it! I mean, come on, have you seen the mortality rates? Even if you're not dead in five years, you'll still end up looking like a cheese grater," he shook his head, "not for me," he began, and then he looked over Harry's shoulder, "hey, what was that?" he was staring at the door, his brow furrowed.

Harry glanced around, "what?"

"I think I heard something," Ron got up slowly and pulled out his wand. Harry stood up too, though he left his wand in his robes. Ron went to the door, put his finger to his lips and his hand on the doorknob, and then threw the door open, jabbing his wand out, with a loud cry of, "HA!"

Someone quite a bit shorter than Ron fell half into the room, and only managed to catch themselves as Ron's wand nearly jabbed them up the nose. It was girl with a lot of bushy brown hair, rather large front teeth, and a scandalised look on her face.

"_YOU!_" bellowed Ron, his face flushing a furious scarlet, "what are _you_ doing eavesdropping, you rat?"

The girl drew herself up, and her face was thunderous. Harry looked from her to Ron, and the equal hate displayed on each face made him wonder what facts he was missing here, "I was _not_ eavesdropping!" the girl replied, "now, get that wand out of my face!"

"Oh, I suppose you just tripped up on your way past, and pressed your ear to the door _accidentally?"_ Ron snarled, not lowering his wand, "tell me what you heard before I jinx you all the way to China!"

"I didn't hear anything!" the girl stomped her foot, "I told you, I was not eavesdropping! _You're_ the one who's doing something shifty – running away from a Prefect. I was just waiting for you to come out so I could tell you Percy is waiting for you at the bottom of the south stairs, and he's going to give you a detention if he catches you."

"A likely story!" crowed Ron.

"It's true!" the girl glowered at him, "I was waiting to _warn_ you, you horrible beast! And now I wish I hadn't bothered, if this is how you thank me. Next time, you can just go face Percy on your own!"

Ron lowered his wand, but he still looked furious, "go on," he growled, "tell me what you heard."

"_Nothing!_" the girl's hands twitched as if she was longing to lock them around Ron's throat, "I _told_ you!"

"Wait," said Harry, and both of them turned to him as if they had forgotten he was there. The girl stared at him. Harry thought very hard for what he wanted and, as before, the Room provided at once. Something that looked like a large spinning top appeared on the table where they had been eating, and Harry snatched it up and, striding over, thrust it under the girl's nose, "say that again," he said.

"I didn't hear anything you didn't want me to," recited the girl, looking at the strange object curiously. The spinning top lay calm and pensive in Harry's palm.

"She's telling the truth," said Harry to Ron, "it's a sneakoscope – if she was lying to us, it would start spinning and wailing. We've got tons of them at home, and Sirius always puts one of them on the table when he thinks I'm lying to him."

Ron gritted his teeth, "she's still a little sneak," he hissed, "Harry, there's no one else in the castle who'll go running to a teacher faster than this no-good no-it-all."

But the girl was staring at Harry with a bemused look on her face, "what are you doing in here?" she asked, looking from him to Ron, "what's going on? You're hiding, aren't you?" she said to Harry, then she turned back to Ron, "are you smuggling people into the castle? I should tell Professor McGonagall – he could be a Death Eater or something!" she jabbed a finger at Harry.

"You see?" groaned Ron, rubbing his forehead, "you see? She's a spy and sneak and an untrustworthy git!"

"Please," said Harry to the girl, "please don't tell anyone. I'm not a Death Eater, I'm not a danger to anyone, I'm just hiding because there are people who don't want me to go to Hogwarts and I'm trying to find out the truth about my life and…please," he finished.

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, studying him, and then her expression softened, "you mean, you trust me to keep your secret?"

"I'm _begging _you not to tell anyone," Harry pleaded, "if you give me your word, of course I'll trust it."

The girl blinked, "and, if I promise not to tell anyone, you won't let him," she jerked her thumb at Ron, "jinx me and lock me in the disappearing cabinet?"

"Of course not," said Harry, looking at Ron in alarm. The expression on Ron's face suggested that Ron had been planning to do just that.

"Alright," said the girl, "then I'll give you my word. On one condition."

"Harry, _no!_" cried Ron, "she'll betray you, I tell you, she's a nasty little teacher's pet!"

But Harry did not think the girl looked nasty at all, "what's the condition?" he asked.

"That you let me visit you and help you hide," said the girl, and Ron moaned loudly in protest, "I want to help!" she shot a glare at the red-haired boy, "and I can bring you anything you need. Unlike this git," she glanced at Ron again, "_I'm_ in on all the teachers' confidence."

Harry considered for a moment. He had only been in Hogwarts for a day and already his cover was being blown. But what other choice did he have? He didn't want Ron to hex anyone on his behalf, "okay," he said, "it's a deal. Now, swear."

The girl straightened her shoulders, "I, Hermione Granger, do solemnly swear to keep this secret and not betray…er, what was your name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Not to betray Harry Potter to anyone," she stuck out her hand, "shake."

He shook it, and began to smile. Ron made a distressed noise as if Harry was signing his own death wish, "Harry, you don't know what you're doing!" he wailed.

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione folded her arms, "I'm part of the conspiracy now, aren't I? So I'm an accomplice to anything you do," she began to grin, "now, tell me everything. Why are you hiding in a secret room with a boy who can't even tell a floating spell from a hovering charm?"

Ron balled his fist in a threatening man, "you better watch your mouth, or I'll forget that my mother always told me not to hit a girl."

Harry leaned past her and shut the door. Hermione watched it close with a little gulp, but her face remained fierce, and when he motioned for her to sit down at the small table (which had provided another chair out of nowhere) she did so.

"I'm looking for Professor Dumbledore," he said, sitting down across from her. Ron refused to sit next to Hermione, but remained standing, tapping his foot and grumbling to himself.

"Why?" Hermione asked at once.

"He's the only one who can answer my questions," Harry replied, "I've been living in hiding with my Godfather since I was four years old, but I really don't know why. He's the one who won't let me go to Hogwarts, or tell me why we live in secret."

"He sounds like a prat," said Hermione.

"Don't interrupt!" Ron snapped, "Harry's talking!"

"Sorry."

"He's not a prat," said Harry, "he's a wonderful man, and he's been teaching me magic to make up for not going to Hogwarts. And I know he has a good reason for everything, but I just wish he would tell me what it was. I ran away yesterday and snuck onto the train to Hogwarts. But if he finds out I'm here, he'll come and make me go home again. And he _will_ find out if any of the teachers find out, because Professor Lupin is friends with him and will tell him. So," he said, "no one must know my name or that I'm at this school until I've spoken to Dumbledore and convinced him to let me stay. That's why Ron is helping me hide."

Hermione nodded, "I can help. I'll try and find out where Dumbledore's office is."

"Thank you," said Harry.

"But then, what are you going to do about your schooling?" Hermione asked, with an enormous among of distress in her voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you can't come to classes or someone will see you!" Hermione's eyes widened as if this was the most terrible idea imaginable, "and your godfather isn't teaching you magic any more! How will you learn _anything_?"

"Er, I hadn't really thought about that," Harry glanced at Ron, "you think it will take me that long to find Dumbledore?"

"Harry, it could take weeks!" Hermione said anxiously, "he doesn't just wander around the school, humming to himself!" and suddenly she brightened, "I'll teach you. I can teach you everything we learn in class, each day."

"Oh, no!" Ron put his hand on the table with a slap, "you see, Harry? She's trying to worm her way into your confidence!"

Harry leaned around Ron's arm, "could you?" he asked, "I mean, are you _good_ enough to teach me magic?"

Hermione gave him a smug smile, "that," she said, "is a question which hardly needs answering."

------------------------------------------

TBC

Dumbledore is old English for Bumblebee. JKR said she gave him the name because she imagined him wandering around Hogwarts, humming to himself. It is the most Dumbledore-ish image of Dumbledore I can think of.


	14. Engagement with a Traitor

A/N: To my raving frustration, certain paragraphs refused to be italicised, triangle bracketed, separated or individualised in any unusual way. Therefore, for the convenience of the reader, Sirius's thoughts are put in regular brackets, eg: (I'm Sirius and This is my Inner Monologue. Angst, Angst). I know it looks tacky and very Stephen-King, but the damn thing won't do as I tell it.

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

---------------------------------

Sirius dreamed. James was in the dream. He was lying at the bottom of the stairs, where Sirius had seen him last. He was dead. Sirius often dreamed this dream. As he had done all those years ago, Sirius knelt and closed his friend's eyes. But as he pulled his hand away, he saw there was blood on his fingers. And then he looked and realised that James had a cut on his forehead shaped like a lightening bolt, with a single trickle of blood rolling down the bridge of his nose, and he knew that it was not James lying there at the bottom of the stairs, it was Harry. Harry was the one who was dead. Flames were licking up the walls, and Sirius stood and stared at the blood on his hands. He could hear Lily screaming. She was upstairs and she needed help. Sirius turned and ran, and ran, but the stairs got longer and longer and the flames were burning his hands, he couldn't part them, they were like walls…

With a noise like a plug being pulled out of a sink, Sirius woke up.

He had fallen asleep at the table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The candle he had placed nearby had burned down to a stump, and the wax had flowed outwards in a puddle and burned Sirius' hand where it lay beside it. His face was stuck to the map that was spread on the table in front of him, and he sat up, peeling it off his cheek and putting it flat on the table once more.

How could he have fallen asleep? With a wave of his wand, Sirius conjured a new candle and lit it. At a time like this, how could he have fallen asleep? _Because it was past midnight_, he thought, _and you were tired. Of course you fell asleep_.

The faintest tinge of dawn was showing on the horizon, but there were no windows in the kitchen, so he couldn't see it. It might as well have been midnight for all Sirius knew. He got up and paced over to the bench, where there was still a pot of coffee sitting, stone cold by now. He swilled a cup and stared at the stove, where the embers of a fire were still glowing.

He remembered his mad panic of yesterday. Driving through the streets of London on his motorbike, barely able to resist the temptation to fly up into the sky to get a better view of the streets. _Perhaps Harry did not make it to Kings Cross…perhaps he's still in London…_ those had been his thoughts. Abandoning the motorbike, he had turned into the great black dog and searched desperately for the scent of his godson, the familiar smell of him that might lead Sirius to his location. But after hours he was lead to only one place: platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts train had pulled away.

Trying not to weep, Sirius had driven home, pulled out a map of London, then one of the whole of Britain, and tried using magic to divine Harry's whereabouts. It was hopeless. Sirius could not concentrate on the spells, he had never been good at divination to begin with, he didn't have the patience it took for such slow and unreliable magic. At last he had fallen asleep over the map, and now those hours of slumber were hours he had wasted when he could have been out looking for Harry.

His godson must have reached Hogwarts by now. That was where he must be. Sirius felt a great wrenching inside him, as two possibilities too awful to imagine dragged at his mind. If Harry _was_ at Hogwarts, as Sirius had guessed, then he was in terrible danger and he did not even know it, danger he was walking towards, unprepared and innocent. If, however, he was _not_ at Hogwarts – there was only one explanation, and that was that he had been picked up by somebody else on the way.

There were only two options for who would have captured Harry. The first was the ministry, and in that case…_the dementors_…no, Sirius could not think about it. It was too terrible. If his godson had fallen into the hands of the ministry, then there was no hope. They would not wait. Moody would recognise Harry, and he would know what to do with him.

If, on the other hand, the _other_ side had captured him…that, too, was an option Sirius ached to imagine. What would the death eaters do to a defiant child like Harry? They would hurt him…Sirius pressed his hand to his head, his brain thumping. But at least he would be alive. Death eaters would not kill Harry. They would take him to their master. And that did not even bear imagining.

If Harry was now at Hogwarts, there was still a sliver of hope. Dumbledore had been reluctant to hurt Harry eight years ago, when it would have been easy for him to do so, he had preferred to force Sirius into making the choice. Perhaps he would be reluctant now. Besides, Dumbledore was curious, he was a studious man. Before he killed Harry, he would want to study him, learn about this Horcrux that walked and breathed and spoke. There might still be time for Sirius to act.

And also, there was Lupin. Perhaps Remus would find Harry before Dumbledore did, and he would contact Sirius at once. Remus would not let Dumbledore hurt Harry. Remus would…Remus would…

Sirius could not stand up. He had to stumble back to the table and fall into a chair, clutching his skull and pressing his forehead to the cool stone. He had been fighting this final conclusion for hours, ever since he had found Harry missing. What if Harry had _not_ left for Hogwarts alone? What if he had not made the choice on his own, as Sirius supposed? What if, when Mrs Black had laughed and said 'he asked me for silence', she had not been speaking about Harry at all?

What if Lupin had taken Harry?

Sirius shook his head, "no, no," he muttered. It couldn't be true. Lupin loved Harry. Sirius had trusted Lupin. _But come, now,_ a quiet voice whispered in his ear, _how could Lupin keep this secret from Dumbledore all year? He couldn't. No one can resist Dumbledore for ever. You were a fool to trust him. Remus is in the Order, after all. He is intimately connected to Dumbledore. Isn't it obvious, Padfoot? Lupin has been passing information about Harry to Dumbledore all year._

"It's not true," Sirius mumbled, "he wouldn't."

(Oh, wouldn't he? Remus owes everything to Dumbledore. He said it himself. What does he owe you? Nothing. Just a few years of grief and a Christmas umbrella. Face it, Padfoot – Remus has been loyal to Dumbledore all along. He gained your trust, made you believe he loved Harry – just long enough to devise a way to steal him away.)

"But he's been with us all year! Why didn't he act sooner?"

(He needed Harry's confidence as well. He couldn't carry Harry off unless Harry wanted to come with him. So he's spent all year building Harry's trust, and then, convincing him to run away to Hogwarts – it was so easy, you see? Harry wanted to go to Hogwarts so badly. He probably asked Lupin to take him away. And Remus, ever-so-reluctant, would have agreed – all the while rejoicing that at last Dumbledore would be able to get his hands on Harry. Why didn't Harry write you a note to tell you why he was leaving? Because honest old Remus told him that he would send you a letter himself.)

"It's not true."

(Remus has spent all year trying to convince you to let Harry go to Hogwarts. Didn't you find that suspicious in the least? But it should have been so obvious! How else did he get the invisibility cloak from Dumbledore? Dumbledore wouldn't give something that precious away without good reason! How else did he get all those schoolbooks for Harry? He certainly couldn't afford them himself! Why else was he always dashing off to help the 'Order'? He's been working for Dumbledore all along.)

"He hasn't."

(He has.)

Sirius groaned and sat up. It wasn't possible. He _knew_ Remus Lupin. He was friends with Remus Lupin.

(Like you were friends with Peter Pettigrew?) 

"No."

(LIKE YOU KNEW PETER PETTIGREW?) 

Sirius stood up and staggered away from the table. His hand, flying wildly, knocked the candle over, and it hit the scruffy map and suddenly it was alight. Sirius picked up the mug with the last dregs of coffee and threw it over the map, extinguishing the flames.

He would have to go to Hogwarts. Tonight. He would take his bike and set out right now. Dumbledore was bound to have spies looking out for him, so he would only be able to fly by night. And he didn't know whether he still remembered the way to Hogwarts. It could take him three days to get there…would Harry still be alive by then?

"He will be," Sirius said adamantly, "he has to be."

With that, he grabbed his wand off the table and dashed out of the kitchen, his cloak billowing behind him. Before he left the house, he went into Harry's bedroom, opened the drawer by Harry's bed, and put something in his pocket. Then he headed back for the entrance hall.

He didn't know what he was going to do when he got to Hogwarts. With the threat from you-know-who, the wards around the school would be so strong, so tight, they would be near impossible to slip through undetected. But Sirius would manage it somehow.

A few minutes later, there was the deep growl of a motorbike starting up, and a dark shape flew over the roof of number 12, Grimmauld Place.

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A few hours later, as the sun rose into the sky above London, a small rat poked its nose out of a hole in the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place. For a few moments it sat, sniffing the air, its whiskers twitching. Then it slipped out into the open and bounded across the kitchen floor until it reached the pantry door, which was open a crack.

The rat wriggled through the crack in the pantry door. There were a few stale cornflakes spilled on the floor at the back, and the rat gorged itself on these for a few minutes, crunching happily through the scraps. When the last of the cornflakes were gone, it squeezed out of the pantry again and crept across the kitchen, keeping close to the wall. It paused and sneezed as it ran through a patch of dust, then continued on its way. At last, it reached the stairs.

It took a powerful jump for the rat to climb each stair, and it paused at the top of the flight to rest. Then it took off again, scurrying along the sideboard, its claws catching in the frayed carpet of the entrance hall. It passed beneath the portrait of Mrs Black without stirring her curtains, and ran past the troll's leg umbrella stand without brushing it with a single whisker.

Down the hall, and up another flight of stairs, went the rat. Finally it stopped at the door to a bedroom, which was open just wide enough for a rat to slip through. In the darkness of the bedroom, it paused for its eyes to adjust. Then it began to scurry through the bedroom, searching every nook and cranny as if foraging for food. The rat scurried over a schoolbook lying on the floor entitled _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_. It climbed up the covers of the unmade bed and walked across the wide pillow, its nose full of the smell of the boy who had slept there. It paused on the edge of the pillow, bracing itself, then leapt onto the chest of drawers beside the bed.

The top drawer was wide open. The rat dropped into it, snuffling about in the deep shadow of the drawer. It came across a notebook, several well-chewed pencils, a broken alarm clock, a photograph of a red-haired woman with her arms around a black-haired, bespectacled man, a lone orange sock, a faded birthday card, and a jar with a very large spider in it. But there was nothing else in the drawer apart from dust and more pencils. The rat made another circuit, its claws clicking on the jar, but to no avail.

It climbed out of the drawer and sniffed the air. It almost looked as if it might be considering its next option. It scurried to the edge of the chest of drawers and made as if to leap down to the ground.

"_Gotcha!_" crowed a croaky voice. Thin, scabby fingers locked around the rat's plump body and lifted it up. Two bloodshot grey eyes inspected the rat, above a crooked grin. Then the house-elf limped out of the bedroom and into the hall. The rat struggled desperately, squeaking and shrieking, trying to sink its teeth into one skinny finger, but the wizened house-elf clutched so tightly that the rat's breath was driven out of its body and its eyes bulged.

"Kreacher has caught a meal, oh, clever Kreacher," the house-elf wheezed, "Poor Kreacher must eat rodents, but he does not mind, he is ridding Mistress' house of the horrible dirty squeakers. Good Kreacher has rid the house of all the vermin, yes he has, the dirty werewolf and the scarred little freak and the filthy blood traitor, Kreacher is a good, loyal house-elf, and now he deserves a nice plump rat for his dinner."

Kreacher squeezed the rat harder, "rat would do best to die quickly, Kreacher will not be letting him go," he laughed, as the rat struggled harder.

But the rat was not dying. In fact, far from being crushed by Kreacher's vice-like grip, it seemed to be getting larger. Kreacher grabbed the rat with both hands, but to his horror, the rat was getting bigger and bigger, it was the size of a cat, now, and he could not hold onto it any longer. He threw it away, wailing in a high, croaky voice. The rat continued to grow, and its face was shortening, its tail being sucked up into itself, its legs lengthening and claws vanishing.

And then it was not a rat: it was a man, hunched over the terrified house-elf. He was a short man, and he still had the air of a rat, his eyes small and watery, his nose pointed like a rodent's. There was a bald patch at the back of his head and he looked rather dishevelled, his robes flaking with dirt and hanging loosely off him. He fumbled for a wand, still snivelling from his squeezing, and pointed it at the house-elf, "what do you mean by trying to eat me, you f-f-filthy elf?"

"Do not kill poor Kreacher!" the house-elf fell flat on his face in front of the man, "Kreacher did not know his plump rat was really a wizard! Oh, Kreacher did not know!"

"You belong to the man who lives in this house, d-d-do you?" asked the man, still pointing his wand at Kreacher.

"Kreacher does, yes indeed, but Kreacher hates it and hates him, he broke my Mistress' heart and Kreacher weeps that he must obey the filthy blood-traitor!" sobbed Kreacher, and he raised his head, "does the rodent man want Kreacher to help him? Will he spare poor Kreacher if Kreacher does as he says?"

The man jabbed at Kreacher with his wand, "you're a liar, elf. You won't h-h-help me. You tried to kill me."

"Kreacher did not mean it, sir!" Kreacher wailed, "Kreacher really will help rodent man if he can, oh yes, he will!"

"Then tell me what's h-h-happened here," wheezed the man, "where's he gone? Your master? Why was he here all alone? Why was he so angry? Tell me, elf!"

"Master ordered Kreacher not to speak," wept Kreacher, "he ordered Kreacher not to leave the house or speak to anyone outside the house about himself and the boy," and suddenly Kreacher stopped weeping and his eyes grew wide, "but…rodent man is _not_ outside the house," he said to himself and climbed to his feet, "rodent man is _inside_ the house! And that means Kreacher is allowed to tell rodent-man the secrets!"

The man shuffled a little as the house-elf, his fear suddenly gone, turned his mad eyes on him, "will rodent-man help Kreacher?" the elf rubbed his hands gleefully, "the rodent-man smells like the dark magic, the stuff of my mistress. If Kreacher tells the rodent-man what he wants to know, will the rodent-man make sure the blood traitor never, ever, ever comes back to my mistress' house?"

The man looked rather frightened now, trying to make sense of the house-elf's strange speech, "I s-s-suppose," he said.

"Then Kreacher will tell the rodent-man everything," grinned the elf, and now he truly did look frightening.

And he did. In broken, strange words, punctuated by complaints and breaking into moans about the treatment of his poor mistress, Kreacher told the rat-like man all about Sirius and Harry living in the old Black house, and that Harry had run away to Hogwarts, and that Sirius had gone after him.

The man listened, and his own expression became gleeful. He rubbed his hands and scratched at his chest, as if ready to burst with joy. Oh, the pleasure his master would show when he heard this news! "And the locket?" he demanded, "where's the golden locket? That's why I came here! I thought this house was empty, I didn't expect to find so much – but it means nothing if I don't bring my master back the locket, the locket that that traitor Regulus stole all those years ago."

Kreacher shook his head, "Kreacher knows of this locket, rodent-man. Kreacher has tried to steal it back. But the scarred child kept the locket, he would not let Kreacher have it. And now the filthy blood-traitor has taken the locket with him to that school, and it is long gone."

The rat-like man swore, "well, at least we still know where it is," he mumbled.

Kreacher looked up at him, "Kreacher has told the rat-man everything," he wheezed, "and now the rat-man must do as Kreacher asked. He must go away and make sure the blood-traitor never comes back to the house, so that Kreacher and his mistress can be alone for ever, and ever, and ever!"

The rat-like man who was Peter Pettigrew pointed his wand at the wizened, gasping house-elf. He should kill the pitiful thing, so that it couldn't reveal to its master that it had betrayed him. It would not do if Sirius Black came home and found his house-elf had spoken to his old friend Wormtail…but he would not be coming home. Pettigrew did not doubt that. And besides, he did not like killing, for his own part.

He lowered his wand, "goodbye, elf," he said, "you have done a g-g-great service, and perhaps one day you will be rewarded f-f-for it."

Kreacher crowed, as the man transformed back into a rat and scampered away down the corridor, "Kreacher has already been rewarded!" he called after the rat, cheering and leaping up and down, "And Kreacher is happy at last!"

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TBC


	15. Wanderings

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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Harry had never had friends like Ron and Hermione before. It was wonderful not having to lie to them, not keeping his magic a secret. But more than that, they were just wonderful in themselves. The three of them spent nearly all of the students' free time in the Room of Requirement, experimenting with the room's sorcery and telling Harry about Hogwarts. They visited him as soon as the bell rang for lunch and whenever their classes finished for the day. This alarmed Harry at first, and he told them earnestly that they really didn't have to keep him company all the time – surely they would rather be in the common room, with the rest of the Gryffindors?

"Stuff that," said Ron, chucking balls of paper at the back of Hermione's head, "Dean and Seamus always treat me like a tag-a-long anyway."

"And it's so much easier to study in here, without all the noise and people bothering me," said Hermione brightly, pulling out her wand and setting fire to the ball of paper in Ron's hand, which he had been preparing to throw at her. Ron yelled and blew on his burnt fingers. Hermione did all her homework in the Room of Requirement now, rather than the library, because any books she needed simply appeared on the bookshelves as soon as she thought about them.

Harry's two new friends bickered almost constantly, like a background soundtrack in a movie. If they were not bickering about Harry, they were bickering about class, or teachers, or each other. Often they would finish an argument by both turning to Harry at once and saying, "_don't_ you agree with me?" at the same time.

"I don't agree with either of you," he would say, and explain why, and then they would stop bickering for a few minutes to think about this.

Ron brought Harry food, and he was hilarious company. His stories about living in the Burrow never failed to make Harry laugh, and Ron was as jealous of Harry's strange fugitive life as Harry was of Ron's wild, lovable family.

Hermione was not nearly as talkative as Ron, but her services to Harry were invaluable. She was appalled by the condition of Harry's magical education, especially his rather lax knowledge of astronomy, history and herbology. At once, she took it upon herself to bring him up to standard. Harry grudgingly pointed out that he was already far better at charms and DADA than her, but she waved these claims aside without consideration.

"Honestly, I'll have to teach you _everything_ from last year before we even get started on second-year magic," she said in exasperation, "I don't know _what_ your godfather was thinking, leaving so much out."

However, Harry was a quick learner, and both of them enjoyed the lessons in magic, which usually ended with a lot of giggling and childish jokes about the potions professor's underwear. Very soon Hermione was making copies of her daily homework for Harry to try out. She also supervised Ron's homework, otherwise he would almost certainly never have completed it.

So, when Hermione wasn't pushing essay questions under the boys' noses, the three children spent their lunchtimes and evenings talking and mucking around, and they were so much fun Harry almost forgot about needing to find Dumbledore.

As it was, nobody was having much luck tracking the headmaster down as it was. Ron had asked his brothers if they had ever gone to Dumbledore's office, but Percy scowled at him and told him not to go bothering important people with his rubbish. Fred and George simply made several rude jokes about brothels, which were funny but not really much help.

Hermione had been a little more practical, and tried wheedling information out of Professor McGonagall, her transfiguration teacher. Professor McGonagall, however, seemed to find Hermione's behaviour highly suspicious and never gave Hermione a straight answer about where to find the headmaster. This only made Hermione more determined than ever, because aside from their potions professor, she had yet to find a teacher that could resist her charms.

Although he wanted desperately to talk to Dumbledore before the inevitable point in the future when Sirius would track him down, Harry half-hoped that it would take a little while yet. He was worried that when he did find Dumbledore, even if the headmaster said he could stay at Hogwarts, he would insist Harry first be sorted into one of the houses in the traditional way. What if Harry was not sorted into Gryffindor, but into one of the other houses? Would he still be able to see Ron and Hermione if he spent all his time in the Hufflepuff common room? Would they still want to be friends with him if he was in Slytherin?

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Hermione assured him, when he brought up these doubts while they were sketching an astronomy diagram of the Clouds of Magellan, "I don't doubt you'll be in Gryffindor. You don't suit anywhere else."

"And besides, your parents were Gryffindors, weren't they?" Ron added, furiously trying to memorise a list of hallucinogenic fruits before their next Herbology lesson.

"I think so," said Harry, remembering that Sirius had once mentioned James and Lily having a fight in Gryffindor tower, though at the time he hadn't known what his godfather meant.

"It's going to be fine," Hermione continued, trying to guide his hand away from Jupiter and towards the Pleides constellation, "tomorrow I'm going to hang around after Charms and talk to Flitwick, and _he'll_ tell me what I want to know, I'm sure he will, and you'll be in the headmaster's office by the end of the week. Besides, we'll be there when you talk to Dumbledore, we'll back you up for everything."

"Thanks," said Harry, "I hope so," he added. He had been hiding in the Room of the Requirement for a week a half now, and it was not just fear of his Godfather's arrival that was pressing on him. The next Saturday would be a full moon, and he was still keeping his Lycanthropy a secret from his two friends.

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However, during the daytime, it was very boring for Harry, practising magic alone in the Room of Requirement while Hermione and Ron were in class. After a few days he could not stand it any longer, and had escaped the lethargy by leaving the Room under his invisibility cloak. At first he did not dare go further than a few corridors from the Room, but before long, when he had been wandering unseen for two days without incident, he set out to explore the rest of the castle – by day and by night.

It was late after Hermione and Ron had gone to bed, and Harry had finished watching the moonlit view from the cloisters, and was heading back up the stairs, when he decided to take a detour past Gryffindor tower. He hadn't been inside it since he had first arrived, and he wanted to know whether the password he had procured from Percy still worked.

He recognised the hallway where the portrait of the fat lady was, but as he came down it he saw to his surprise that somebody was sitting outside it, as if guarding it. Cautiously, Harry approached the door, and saw that it was a boy his own age, with a familiar round face. He was sitting against the wall beside the portrait, apparently asleep.

"Neville?" asked Harry in surprise.

Neville was awake in an instant, and his hand flew to his wand, "w-who's there?" he cried, "where are you?"

"It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you," said Harry. For a moment, he considered taking off his cloak to show Neville who he was, but then he thought better of it. He was still trying to stay hidden in Hogwarts and Neville did not seem like the sort of person who was very good at keeping secrets, "what are you doing sitting out here by yourself?"

"Why can't I see you?" demanded Neville, "are you Peeves? Are you?"

Harry had heard of Peeves from Ron, who had been drenched by a bucket of water hurled by the poltergeist a few days before, "no…um…actually, I'm just a regular ghost," he said suddenly, "but I thought I'd stay invisible because I didn't want to scare you. I'm a very ugly ghost," he added as he sat down opposite Neville.

"Oh," said Neville, lowering his wand, "oh, alright. I don't care if you are Peeves," he said fiercely, "you can't make things any worse than they already are."

"Why? What's wrong? Is that why you're sitting out here?" Harry asked.

"Never mind, I'm just being a big baby," the boy shrugged hopelessly, "I shouldn't bother you."

"Oh, go on, I haven't got anywhere better to be," Harry pressed.

Neville put his wand back into his robes and sniffed, "Snape gave me a detention. Because I blew up his cauldron in potions. But he deserved it, he was being so horrible," he said angrily, "and I had to polish trophies with Mr Filch all night. But they changed the password today and I've forgotten it, and I got back so late there's no one to let me into the tower," he drew his knees up to his chin, "and it's so dark, and I'm cold and I can't sleep because I keep hearing noises," he finished miserably.

Harry felt a great rush of sympathy for Neville. He remembered that Neville had said he was friends with Hermione, but she was spending so much time in the Room of Requirement now. Neville had probably been very lonely since school had started.

"Well, I'll stay and talk to you, if you like," Harry offered.

"Oh," Neville was obviously nervous about being kept company by an invisible ghost, even a friendly one, "um. Thank you."

There was silence for a while. Neville rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, "are you still there?" he asked.

"Of course," said Harry. His back was getting stiff, but he felt he couldn't abandon Neville after so short a time.

The boy nodded. He looked less frightened now, almost relaxed. He rested his head on his knees, ready to sleep, and his fringe fell away from his forehead.

Harry felt his brows knot together in surprise, "what's that on your forehead?" he asked, resisting the urge to point, since Neville couldn't see him anyway.

Neville quickly sat up straight and pushed his fringe flat so that his forehead was covered once more. But in the silverly light filtering down the corridor, Harry had already gotten a good look at the lightening-bolt shaped mark on the boy's forehead , "it's nothing," Neville muttered, "just a scar I've got."

"How did you get it?" Harry asked, hearing his own voice catch in his throat, "I've…seen one just like it. Only it was on…another boy your age."

"Really?" Neville frowned, "I don't think it can be just the same as mine. I'm not supposed to show it to anyone."

Harry's heart was thumping, "why not? Who says that?" he said, more harshly than he meant to.

Neville put his arms around his knees, "it's kind of a secret. Professor Dumbledore told me I'm not to tell anyone who asks."

"Dumbledore?" Harry felt a shudder run through his body. He was leaning forward now, trying to look at the scar again. Memories were rushing through his mind, of waking up eight years ago at St Mungo's hospital, and seeing the tall and frightening Professor smiling down at him. Dumbledore has asked to see Harry's scar, the scar had had received the night his parents died. Dumbledore had touched the scar gently with one long index finger, and murmured words Harry couldn't hear, and shaken his head sadly.

"Yes," Neville frowned.

"You got that scar," Harry gulped, "when you were four years old?"

Neville paused, "yes," he said, "how'd you know that? How'd you know my name, anyway?"

Harry tried to clear the croak from his voice, "I…" but he couldn't think what to say, "please. What do you know about that scar? What does it mean? What does it do?"

Neville touched his forehead self-consciously, "it doesn't do anything," he muttered, "it hurts sometimes, but not much else. Dumbledore said that it means…that you-know-who gave it to me…when he killed my parents, when I was four, and it means…it means he couldn't kill me, only brand me," he finished.

Harry realised that he was blinking back tears. He'd spoken to Neville in Diagon Alley, had been living in the same castle with him for days now, and all along, this boy had the same scar as Harry, the same story…was this the answer? Was this why Sirius had hidden him? Was this nothing to do with Dumbledore at all, but to do with you-know-who…_Voldemort?_ Harry had never thought about this option before. The war always seemed so far away, a trivial matter compared to his day-to-day life.

He had always assumed that the scar on his forehead was simply a wound from the attack on his parents, that it didn't mean anything more than all the other scars Harry had sustained in those days after his parents death. He had so many scars on his face, that one, the one that Dumbledore had touched, did not stand out. But was that what it meant? That, on the night all those years ago, when Voldemort had killed his mother and pointed his wand at Harry…he had tried to kill him, and failed? Was that the answer?

_But that couldn't be it,_ Harry thought suddenly, _because Voldemort wasn't trying to kill me that night…he said so himself…_and again he remembered those moments, which he had always forced himself to forget: his mother's screams, the high, cold laughter, and the thin, icy voice, "don't run, you silly girl…you're giving your life so that your son may live…oh, I won't kill him…no, I won't…I'll just kill you…"

"Are you still there?" Neville asked, snapping Harry out of his nightmare.

"Yes," Harry said, his words no more than a whisper, "yes, I'm still here."

"Are you alright?"

Harry shook his head, but of course, Neville couldn't see him.

Suddenly they both froze as they heard footsteps coming up the stairs at the other end of the corridor. A girl giggled, a distant, bubbly sound that seemed out of place in the dark night-time. A boy said, "bye, Penelope…" and then, after a few moments, Percy Weasley emerged up the stairs. He was dressed in a bathrobe, carrying a towel under his arms, and he was swinging his horn-rimmed glasses from one finger. His hair was sopping wet and the faint smell of bath-water met Harry's nostrils. Percy had a silly grin plastered across his face.

He saw Neville as he came down the corridor and the grin vanished. He hurriedly put on his glasses, which were completely fogged up, "you, there! What are you doing out here?"

Neville jumped to his feet at once, nearly tripping over the end of his robes, "I can't get through the portrait!" he wailed.

Percy wiped the steam off his glasses and glared at Neville as if he suspected Neville of being a rogue murderer in disguise, "I should give you a detention for being out of bed at this hour," he said, tightening the ties of his bathrobe.

"I don't care, please, just tell me the password to get in," Neville hopped from foot to foot, "it's cold and there's ghosts out here!"

"Let you in?" the portrait of the fat lady, which had been snoozing peacefully up until this point, woke up and stretched, "well, why didn't you just ask me, my dear boy? I know you've had trouble with the passwords before, you're not a criminal."

Neville looked as if he had just broken a tooth, "I didn't want to wake you," he said quietly, and slumped. Harry, who still felt dazed and shocked at everything Neville had told him, wished he could throw off the cloak, shake Neville's hand and promise him he'd stick by him from now on. Looking at Neville's lost and dejected face, and thinking of all the times he'd sat alone at lunchtime in a new school, he thought he had never felt such a close kinship to anyone before. But Neville was already turning towards the portrait hole as the fat lady swung open to admit him.

"Alright, I won't give you a detention this time," said Percy, striding past Neville and into the common room, "but you're just lucky I was so late…er…taking my shower," and with that, he disappeared up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

Neville glanced over his shoulder as the portrait swung closed again, and looked right at the spot where Harry was standing, "bye," he said, raising his hand. Then the hole snapped shut and he was gone.

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Harry tried to make sense of what he had learned. Neville had been orphaned and branded by you-know-who. Harry had been orphaned and branded just the same – so what was different about Harry, that Sirius would let know one know his name or that he was even _alive?_ Why was Neville under Dumbledore's benefaction but Harry was forbidden from Hogwarts? What did the scars _mean?_

At last, with questions bursting out of his seams, Harry told Ron and Hermione everything he could. They listened, mouths open, to the story of Lily and James' murder, the clues Harry had picked up from Sirius over the years, and finally to Harry's encounter with Neville the night before. Harry still omitted the fact that he was a werewolf, feeling that that was the only thing that would surely turn them against them.

"Wow," said Ron, shaking his head, when Harry finished reciting all the questions that were buzzing around his skull, "wow…I mean, wow."

"Harry, I'm so sorry," said Hermione, taking his hand, "you've had it so rough! And to still not understand the truth…I promise we'll find Dumbledore soon. Flitwick says he's been at the ministry for a week now, but he's coming back to Hogwarts in two days time. We'll corner him then, and_ make_ him tell you what's what if we have to. You deserve answers."

"Wow," Ron continued shaking his head, "you know what, Harry? You should write a book. That's sell thousands, that would. Millions, if we got it translated. '_The Adventures of Harry Potter'_…or '_Harry Potter – my life'_…or maybe _'Harry Potter and What's Up With Everything?'_ – what d'you think?"

"Ron, shut up," Hermione frowned at him, "can't you act serious for even _five minutes?_"

"I could, but I'd be acting," replied Ron. Hermione made a derisive noise and turned back to Harry. The three of them pondered the questions for the next hour, and even Hermione was too absorbed in the discussion to point out that she and Ron had a Potions essay due the next day. But, on the other hand, perhaps Hermione had already done it.

At any rate, they came up with few plausible conclusions to the riddles that were plaguing their friend, only a lot of silly answers that Ron made up, which made Hermione roll her eyes. But Harry felt better now that he'd told them all he could. Yes, he was more confused than ever, but it wouldn't be long, now until he spoke Dumbledore. It wouldn't be too long now.

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The corridors were nearly always empty during classes. Harry wandered through them, hidden beneath the invisibility cloak, learning the strange twists and turns of Hogwarts and admiring the view of the lake from the window, and it almost felt as if he was the only person alive in the entire castle. However, sometimes he came across teachers, or students running errands. At first, he had ducked away, frightened of bumping into them. But after a while he had gotten used to being invisible and kept walking as if not even aware that other people were there at all.

On Friday, he had managed to sneak into the trophy room, to look at the old cups, searching for the name _James Potter_ and trying to guess what the 'services to the school' awards were for. As he came down a long corridor, he heard voices at the other end and caught a flash of red hair. Two identical freckled people were coming down the hall towards them: Harry recognised Ron's brothers, Fred and George, from the train.

They were both chattering to each other like monkeys, and neither of them seemed to be watching where they were going. Harry thought they probably wouldn't have seen him even if he _hadn't_ been invisible. Their heads were bent over a battered old piece of parchment held between them, which seemed to be riveting them, since they kept pointing at it and exclaiming.

"Yes, I told you, he's right there," one of them (it was Fred, but Harry didn't know this) said to the other.

"Blimey, you're right," the other replied, "wonder how he's doing that?"

"Who knows?" Fred replied, his eyes still locked on the parchment. Harry was listening to their conversation with only half an ear. He wanted to get back to the Room of Requirement before the lunch bell rang and the corridors filled up with students.

"Well, maybe he can tell us himself," said George, jabbing at the map again, "shall we grab him?"

"Poor bloke doesn't even know we're talking about him," Fred laughed as the twins passed Harry in the corridor. And, quite suddenly they both raised their heads, dropped the piece of parchment, and leapt on the spot where Harry was walking.

"Agh! Get off!" Harry wriggled as Fred's arms locked around his waist and tackled him to the ground, and George grabbed his legs and held him still. He kicked as hard as he could and struggled with all his might, and it took all the twins' strength to hold onto him at all. Before it was over, Harry got Fred's elbow in his eyes and George caught Harry's foot in his stomach, but the twins were practised at tackling Ron and Percy and they knew how to keep someone immobile, even if they couldn't see them.

Everyone was panting when at last Harry realised he was not going to get away and stopped struggling. Fred, pinning Harry's arms to the rug, was sitting on his chest, and George was kneeling on his shins rather painfully.

"Get off of me!" Harry gasped furiously, "I'll bite you!" he snapped his teeth at Fred's wrist, which was not too far away.

Fred moved his arm away from Harry's face, "uh, uh," he warned, still grinning despite the exertion, "you're not going anywhere. You got his legs, George?"

"I got 'em," George replied, leaning back so that there was not so much pressure on Harry's shins.

"Right, we're all settled then," Fred was looking at the spot where he had obviously guessed that Harry's head must be, "are you comfortable?"

"Of course I'm not!" Harry snarled, "how did you know I was there?"

"Our little secret," said George. The ragged piece of parchment which the twins had been reading was lying a little way away, "we've been watching you for days now. You've been wandering the castle pretty regularly, haven't you?"

"How is it that you and Ron keep disappearing off the map?" Fred asked, gripping Harry's wrists tighter, "_we've_ never managed it, and we've been roaming these halls for years!"

"You're not a student," said George, "there's no 'Harry Potter' listed in any of the house rolls, not even the old ones."

"You asked a teacher about me?" Harry asked, his voice full of terror.

"No, no, my invisible friend," Fred assured him, "we just checked the list in Filch's office. We realise you're doing your best to stay hidden."

"We just want to know _why_," George continued.

"_And_ what you're doing with our brother and that Granger girl," added Fred, "after all, Ron _hates_ her."

"Or so he claims," winked George.

Harry paused, "let me up," he said, "I'll make myself visible again."

"We're not that foolish," George leaned on Harry's shins again, "you'll scarper off."

"I won't," said Harry, "keep a hold of one of my arms, if you like."

Fred shook his head, "and have you whip out a wand and curse us? No fear!"

"I need one hand," Harry grumbled, "just let me stand up, okay?"

The twins looked at each other, then, after a moment, Fred got off Harry's chest and the two of them lifted Harry bodily to his feet. Fred refused to let go of his wrists, but he allowed Harry to move his hands so that he could pull the invisibility cloak off his face.

The twins gaped as first Harry's head, and then, as Fred released his hands, the rest of him, melted into existence. Harry rolled the invisibility cloak up and glared at the twins, "you can see me now. Happy?"

"Who _are_ you?" Fred frowned.

"I'm not telling you," Harry replied, "I'm trying to keep a low profile, remember? Ron and Hermione are helping me hide."

"Oh, go on!" George grinned, "let us in on the big mystery! Fred and I are _great _at keeping secrets."

Harry rolled his eyes, "sure, just like you're great at attending class, too. Which I assume is where you're meant to be right now?"

Fred laughed, and clutched his stomach, "we both came down with 'a spontaneous case of the runs' and had to go the 'the hospital wing'."

"Flitwick's such a dear, I wish our Mum was that gullible," George shook his head.

"How _did_ you know I was there?" Harry asked, and his eyes fell on the piece of parchment that had been discarded when the twins jumped on Harry. Before either of them could intercept him, he dodged around them and picked it up.

It seemed to be a blank, square, crumpled sheet, without any marks or writing on it. Harry turned it over, frowning, "what is this?"

Fred made a grab for the parchment, but Harry held it out of his grasp, "you give that back, invisible boy," Fred growled, "that's our most precious possession."

Harry raised an eyebrow and pulled out his wand. He tapped the piece of parchment, "reveal yourself," he said. Nothing happened.

"Oh, give me that," George grabbed the parchment out of Harry's hands, "look," he said, glancing at his twin, "here's a boy who can become invisible. It's probably best we make him our ally, don't you think, Fred?"

"An ally like that is never a bad idea," Fred agreed, "and it's better than having him as an enemy. Shall we show him?"

"Show me what?" Harry asked.

George cleared his throat. Then he tapped the parchment and said, "_I solemnly swear I am up to no good."_

Harry's eyes widened. Thin, spidery lines were spreading across the parchment as if someone was writing in an unseen hand. At the top, curly green letters were forming like slime oozing out of cracks in a wall. They declared, in proud swoops of writing, the words:

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs – Purveryors of Aids to Magical Michief-Makers – are proud to present – THE MARAUDERS MAP

Below these words was a complex and beautifully-sketched map of Hogwarts. However, Harry was not looking at the map. He was staring at the words at the top with his eyes wide, mouthing the names that were written there.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Fred said fondly, stroking the map in his twin's hand.

"A true work of art," George sighed, "with rather more practical uses."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," Fred smiled wistfully, "we owe them so much."

"So do I," whispered Harry faintly.

"What's that?"

Harry shook his head, "where did you get this map? I never knew it still existed. I can't even believe it has survived all these years…"

Fred and George looked at each other, "now, this is a curious coincidence," Fred frowned, "he says he knows about the map, George."

"How can he?" George said in melodramatic confusion.

"It's a secret."

"A prankster's heirloom."

"But, then how?"

Harry touched the heading with gentle fingers, "Prongs," he said, "was my father. And Padfoot," his index finger moved across the word, "is my godfather. He raised me. Moony lives in our house when he isn't working. Wormtail," Harry's face grew grim, "is another story."

The twins' mouths were hanging open, and suddenly George fell to one knee, his hands clasped as if in prayer, leaving the marauder's map in Harry's hands, "Fred!" he cried, grabbing his twin and pulling him to his knees by the back of his robes, "show some respect! We are looking at _royalty!"_

"Blood of the lords!" Fred went one step further and knelt in front of Harry with his face pressed flat to the floor, "he graces us with his presence!"

"Oh, no, don't, I really don't need that," Harry offered his hand to George, to help him to his feet, but George merely took the hand and kissed it. Harry heard Fred sniggering.

"Don't do that," Harry said angrily, looking away, "I'm not even that much of a prankster. Padfoot always said he'd failed in training me as a mischief-maker."

Fred sat up again and he looked at George, his eyes alight, "do you see, George?"

"I see, I see!" George clapped his hands together, "he has been sent for a reason!"

They both got to their feet and each put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "clearly, the glorious Marauders sent you here themselves, my invisible friend," George declared, "in order that you learn their ways, as they must have intended."

"What?" Harry raised his eyebrows, "what d'you mean by that?"

"We mean," said Fred, rubbing his hands, "we will guide you. In the arts which your noble ancestors practised with such success."

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Hermione and Ron looked up as Harry opened the door to the Room of Requirement. He draped the invisibility cloak over a nearby chair and shut the door. They had been waiting for him for half an hour, and lunchtime was almost over.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked, dropping the sneakoscope he had been playing with onto Harry's bed.

"You didn't get caught by a teacher, did you?" Hermione asked anxiously. She was doing her homework at the table.

"I met your brothers," said Harry, looking at Ron, "Fred and George."

Ron sat up, "oh, no. And they saw you?"

"Are they going to tell anyone?" Hermione gasped.

Harry shook his head as he dropped into a seat across from the table, "no. Actually. They started bowing," Harry looked at the ceiling bemusement, "apparently, I'm the descendent of their 'mighty teachers' and I'm 'to learn the Marauder trade'. They say they're going to train me in the ways of mischief and Hogwarts espionage."

Hermione glanced at Ron, "what on earth is he talking about?"

"I dunno," said Ron, who was still staring at Harry, "but with Fred and George, it's hard to tell anyway. They didn't hurt you?" he asked nervously, "they'll really keep you a secret?"

"I think so," said Harry, "they swore a very long oath of loyalty in front of me."

Ron looked very puzzled, "an oath of _loyalty?"_

"Yep," said Harry.

The red-haired boy shook his head, "those two are _mad_," he muttered, "mad as a pair of hatters."

Harry laughed, "I think I figured that out for myself."

-----------------------------------------

TBC


	16. Chains of Friendship

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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"You're going down, scar-boy."

"Not gonna happen, Weasel."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, perhaps you could tell me what _this_ is?"

Ron pushed his queen smoothly across the chessboard. Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses, and Ron smirked as his mouth moved soundlessly, trying to find an escape route.

"No!"

"Oh, yes," Ron leant back as his Queen expertly wrestled with Harry's king down, finally knocking the tiny chess piece to the board and standing on his chest with her arms upraised. The rest of Harry's chessmen fell flat on their faces and began to beat their fists on the ground, like a toddler having a tantrum.

Harry growled as he began to pack up his chessmen, which were an old set that Ron had stolen from his brother Percy for Harry's use, "next time, I'll get you. I was raised by a pathological cheater. I'll find a way."

Ron laughed dismissively and they both turned as they heard the door to the Room of Requirement open. Hermione slipped inside, panting, and pushed it closed quietly, a guilty expression on her face. She looked as if she had been running.

"What's up with you?" Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, it's nothing," Hermione shuffled over and sat down opposite Harry, "it's just Neville. He wanted me to help him with his potions homework and…well…I know I'm his only friend, but couldn't he sort of…maybe…" she trailed off.

"Hermione," Harry scolded, "Neville's probably really missing you."

"I know, I know," Hermione ducked her head, "but…"

Ron sniggered, "not exactly loyal, our Hermione."

Hermione shot a very sour look at Ron, then turned back to Harry, "anyway, I was going to say that this weekend most of the third-years and above are going to Hogsmeade, and I thought we could go and practise your transfiguration work in an empty classroom…"

Ron cut her off, "Hermione, he doesn't want to spend his weekend doing _homework_. Come on, Harry, I'll get a hold of a couple of school brooms and you can show me your flying."

"And where do you propose he go flying?" Hermione said indignantly.

"Well, on the Quidditch pitch, I suppose. Nobody will be using it."

"And you think no one will _see_ him, flapping about in broad daylight on a broomstick? Are you _mad_, Ron?"

"I'm just trying to suggest something fun, Miss Old Maid!"

Another row was breaking out. Harry felt his stomach sink. He knew flying was out of the question, and he didn't want to spend his weekend being taught how to turn a spoon into a shrew, but he would have enjoyed spending a whole day with Ron and Hermione all the same. However, he knew that it was not possible: tomorrow night was the full moon.

When Harry had first run away from Grimmauld Place, he had imagined that once he had reached Hogwarts, finding Dumbledore would be easy, and everything would sort itself out from there. As it had crept closer, the full moon had weighed at the back of his mind, but he had been sure that somehow he would get to talk to the headmaster before it finally came around. Now he knew he could not avoid it any longer. They still hadn't found Dumbledore – and that meant that, for the first time in eight years, he would have to endure his transformation alone.

Hermione started barraging Ron with exactly what she thought of his recklessness, but Harry cut her off with a sharp, "stop it, you two."

They both looked at him, surprised by his abrupt tone, "did you hear what she just called me?" Ron said, looking outraged.

"Ron, please shut up for a moment. I have something very important I need to ask you," Harry said, leaning forward, "and you have to promise me you will do it, no matter what."

Hermione and Ron leant forward so that their three heads were almost touching, "we promise," said Ron.

"What is it?" asked Hermione.

"Tomorrow evening, I need you to stay away from this room," said Harry seriously, "you mustn't come to visit me. You mustn't come _near_ here. You can see me during the day, but at least two hours before sunset, you have to go away and not come back. No matter what."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, "why?" Ron asked at once.

"I can't tell you," Harry said, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, "but will you please do that, okay?"

"Alright, Harry," said Hermione, "we promise."

-------------------------------------------

The light through the windows was rosy as the sun sunk slowly towards the horizon. Harry had waited until Hermione and Ron were out of sight, then he had taken all his belongings, including the invisibility cloak, and hidden them in a classroom nearby. He had gone back to the Room of Requirement and walked up and down in the front of it three times. At last, a door appeared in the wall. It was a solid oaken door with a heavy bolt drawn across the outside. Harry opened it and stepped inside.

The contents of the room had completely changed from the cheerful living area Harry had been occupying for the past two weeks. The floor was bare boards, smooth and clean, and the walls were all stone, forbidding and cold. There was no furniture or decorations. But on the far side of the room, two thick bronze rings were bolted into the stone, and looped through the rings were short, heavy chains, ending in huge, heavy manacles.

The last rays of the sun were shining through the windows in the corridor as Harry stepped into the room. He shut the door firmly, but there was no bolt on the inside, which disappointed him. However, he had no time to think about it. Without a moment's hesitation, he took off his glasses and his robes, folded them and laid them in the corner of the room near the door, and moved towards the chains.

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"Ron, where are you going?"

Hermione stood up from the table where she had been helping Neville with his potions questions. The red-haired boy had one foot out of the portrait hole. Hermione strode over to him and grabbed his arm.

"Where do you _think_ I'm going?" he glared at her.

Hermione lowered her voice, "don't you dare," she whispered, "we promised."

"Something's wrong with him," Ron tried to pull away, but she was gripping his arm too tightly, "you saw him today. He was sick as a dog."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione hissed, though she agreed with him. Harry had not been himself all Saturday: he had looked ill and worried, and he had snapped moodily at them several times.

Seamus and Dean, whom Ron had been sitting with before he had got up and gone to the portrait hole, were glancing at him and Hermione, sniggering into their hands. Ron shot them a withering look and turned back to the bushy-haired girl.

"Don't you _care?_" he said.

"Of course I care," Hermione looked at him coldly, "but we _gave him our word_. There has to be a good reason he didn't want us to be there to look after him."

"But what if he needs help?" Ron shucked her off and pushed the portrait hole open properly, "he knew he was getting sick. What if he just didn't want us getting in trouble? We can't just leave him there to suffer!"

"No. But we have to do as he says."

Ron turned away and went out into the corridor. Hermione hurried after him, pushing the portrait closed as she went, "Ron! Don't be an ass!"

"He's our friend," Ron called back to her.

Hermione ran after him, "well, I'm coming with you, then."

Ron didn't reply. They walked quickly through the torch-lit halls, passing a group of yawning Hufflepuffs, who were heading off to bed after a late night in the library.

"If we aren't back in the tower in half an hour, we're going to get a detention," she said tremulously. Ron gave her another sour look.

"That's all you care about, school and your own reputation," he sneered.

"That's not true!" Hermione raised her fist, resisting the urge to punch him, "you've always hated me, just because I'm smarter than you! Why do you have to be such a spoiled brat? You're as bad as …as bad as that horrible Slytherin, Draco Malfoy!"

Ron's mouth fell open and he ground to a sudden halt, but he was so shocked by this insult he could not think of any reply. After a moment he started walking again, but much faster, making Hermione run to keep up with him. He refused to even look at her.

At last, they reached the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The wall on the other side was smooth and bare. Ron walked past it, with Hermine trotting at his heels, once, twice, three times, thinking _I want to see Harry_. But no door appeared.

"You're thinking the opposite!" Ron accused, snarling at her.

"I am not," said Hermione, but she said it a little too quickly, and he knew she was lying. He grabbed her arms and marched her backwards.

"Stand there. Don't move," he commanded. She stood, shaking with repressed rage, as Ron walked past the tapestry three times again. He heard her give a little gasp, and turned to see that a door had appeared. It was of thick oak, and there was a heavy bolt on the outside, but it was not drawn.

"That's not the usual door," Hermione squeaked as they both stood in front of it. She was holding Ron's arm again, but this time, instead of pulling him back, she was clinging to him, trembling a little. Her fear made Ron feel braver.

"Come on," he said, reaching his hand out and pushing at the door, which gave way slowly. Inside it was pitch black, but Ron stepped in, Hermione still clutching his arm. As they entered the dark room, he pushed the door open fully.

Something from within gave a deep growl. Hermione emitted a quiet moan of terror. Ron braced himself, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. There was a square of light that the open door was illuminating with silver moonlight, casting their shadows across the bare wooden floor.

"Harry?" he called. He could see into the room now. A dark shape was moving against the far wall, and with another rumbling growl came what sounded like the clinking of chains. Hermione's grip on his arm tightened, and he saw that she was raising her wand.

"Lumos," she whispered, and suddenly Ron was almost blinded by a bright white glare that sprang from the tip of Hermione's wand, filling the room with light, and casting the creature curled against the far wall into sharp relief.

It was hunched into a ball, its eyes shining a luminous green in the light from the wand. It looked like a wolf, a wolf that was not quite a wolf, because it still had traces of human form about it. These human elements made it grotesque, a mockery of proper animal shape and lupine fluidity. Its lips were drawn back from white teeth that glinted like arrowheads, and the black, black fur that covered it's body rippled as its muscles tensed.

Hermione screamed and pulled Ron back, just as the creature sprang towards them. Ron heard a yell being torn from his own throat as he raised his arm to protect himself, waiting for the full brunt of the wolf to smash him to the ground, its teeth snap his bones like toothpicks and rip the flesh from his throat. But there was the clatter of chains and the yelp of a frustrated animal, and after a moment Ron realised no teeth were chewing on his neck and nothing had landed on top of him.

Trembling, his breath coming in short gasps, he lowered his arm. He found that Hermione was peering around his shoulder, and he realised – to his embaressment – that he had thrown himself in front of her, shielding her with his body. But there was no need.

The creature was still growling and snapping, but its prey was out of its reach. Two shining silver chains, manacled to the wolf's front paws, tethered it to the far wall. It strained against them, the stench of its hot breath making Ron wrinkle his nose, but it could come no closer. After a moment it gave up and paced back and forth on its short leash, snarls rumbling in its throat.

Hermione was still pointing her lit wand at the creature, clinging to Ron's robes with her other hand, and she was taking deep, gasping breaths, her eyes locked on those green, glowing eyes.

"What is it?" Ron gaped, stepping back and drawing his own wand, "_lumos_," a second light shone out at the creature, "what is it? It's eaten Harry! Oh, I knew we should have come earlier!"

Hermione gulped. She directed her wand at the corners of the room, looking for more clues, and recognised Harry's clothes, neatly folded and carefully place beside the door.

"We have to kill it," Ron babbled, "should we get a teacher? We have to kill it."

"No!" Hermione turned and to Ron's bewilderment, she stepped back and pushed the door shut so that the creature's growls were muffled from the corridor outside. She turned back to the wolf-monster, her eyes wide and still a little fearful, but not terrified, "no, we mustn't tell anyone."

"It's eaten Harry!" the boy sobbed.

Hermione shook her head, very slowly, her eyes running over the wolf's not-yet-adult body, the glowing green eyes, and, most importantly, barely visible beneath the monster's shining black fur, the twists of knotted scars around its right eye, "it _is_ Harry."

"What?" Ron stared at her as if she had just told him the sea was made of elderberry wine, then he looked back at the creature, "_what?_"

"He's a werewolf," Hermione breathed, "and it's the full moon."

Ron shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed as if hoping everything would go away.

"It's true," Hermione nudged him, "that's why he wouldn't let us come tonight. I _told_ you he knew best."

Ron was still shaking his head, and stepping back to fumble for the doorhandle, "no," he said savagely, "he would have told us," he opened the door and pushed out into the corridor beyond. The wolf howled at his retreating back.

"Ron!" Hermione leapt into the hall after him, pulling the door closed behind her and driving the bolt home. Ron was running down the corridor, his wand tip still glowing, bobbing along with him like a will-o-wisp. Hermione dashed after him, whispering, "_nox_," to darken her own wand. But Ron's legs were much longer than hers, and he had a head start.

She only caught up with him at the portrait hole, "Ron, stop!"

The fat lady was glaring down at them, "what are you two doing out of bed?"

Hermione ignored her. She grabbed Ron's shoulders and pushed him up against the portrait, "listen to me, Ron!"

"I'm going to tell Percy," Ron growled, not struggling against her, "I'm going to tell Professor McGonagall. That's we should have done on the first day of term. You were right, we should have told a teacher."

"Don't you dare," Hermione gasped.

"Hermione, _he's a werewolf!_" Ron shook his head, his face full of revulsion, "he could have killed us anytime! Don't you see that? We could be _dead_ right now."

"Only one night a month," Hermione snapped, "are you going to betray him because of one night? The rest of the time, he's no more likely to kill you than _I_ am!"

Ron wriggled weakly, "you don't understand," he hissed, "you're muggleborn. You don't know what werewolves do. They kill people all the time. That Greyback fellow – he's killed children. You read the papers, you've seen him!"

"You _know_ Harry's not like that!" Hermione shouted.

"How do we know?" Ron clenched his fists, "we don't know anything about him. Don't you see? That's where the scars on his face came from, that's where he was bitten. He's been lying to us, Hermione. All that nonsense about you-know-who and needing to speak to Dumbledore – he's probably _working_ for you-know-who. His godfather's probably a Death Eater. He's snuck into the castle to kill Dumbledore, that's what he's done. And we _believed_ him, like idiots!"

"Ron, that's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!"

"It all makes sense," Ron was breathing heavily, "he got onto the train, and from there, into the castle, but he couldn't find Dumbledore – so he came to me, asking me to hide him. He made up the story about you-know-who killing his parents to make us feel sorry for him. That's probably why Charlie and Tonks never talk about him: they know he's working for Death Eaters, they just didn't want to say it. That's why he's not allowed to come to Hogwarts. I've been such a fool!"

Hermione paused, then she took her hands off his shoulders and stepped back, "alright," she said softly, "go on. If that's what you believe, go and tell Professor McGonagall. I won't stop you," her face was cold and disdainful, "you can tell her I helped him, if you like. I'll say you had nothing to do with it, I tricked you into it, so that you don't get into trouble."

Ron raised his balled fists, bitter fury twisting across his face. Then he dropped his arms, and his expression turned to one of misery. He slumped and slid slowly to the floor. His head hung limply, bent forward as if in mourning.

"I can't," he said.

Hermione knelt beside him and put her arms around him. She was warm and had the lingering smell of sweat about her, but it was not a nasty smell, "of course you can't. He's your friend."

Ron put his arms around her waist. He was glad she couldn't see that there were tears sparkling on his cheeks.

That was how Percy found them, when he returned to Gryffindor tower a few minutes later, "Ron!" he cried, "you should both be in bed!" there was no hint of humour on his face. Hermione and Ron jumped to their feet, Ron quickly brushing away his tears. Percy issued them both with detentions, to which Hermione wailed in protest as the prefect drove them both through the portrait hole.

"You deserve it, both of you," Percy huffed as he pointed them towards their respective dormitories, "honestly! Don't let me catch you at that kind of business again, Ron, or I'll write to Mum!"

---------------------------------------------

Hermione drew back the bolt on the door and pushed it open. Both of them listened intently for a few moments, but only silence rung from the Room of Requirement. Ron stepped past her and raised his wand, "_lumos._"

"Oh!" Hermione hurried forward, Ron hot on her heels. They knelt beside the pale figure curled against the wall, trembling like a newborn puppy, eyes closed as if in fevered sleep. Ron pulled off his cloak and draped it over the shivering Harry, to keep him warm as much as to cover his nakedness.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, and raised his head, but without his glasses he was nearly blind in the dim light. Someone was holding his wrist, gently unlocking the manacles that bound him, and he heard the chains clatter away.

"Who's there…?" he murmured, raising his head, "Sirius?"

"It's us, mate," said a familiar voice, and moments later an orange blur turned into Ron's face as his friend lowered Harry's glasses onto his nose. Harry shuddered and tried to sit up.

"Hold still," Hermione's soft voice instructed. She was unlocking the second manacle, and a moment later it too fell away. Harry realised a cloak that smelled of Ron was draped over his shoulders, and he pulled it tighter around him, embarrassed to be seen in such a state. He straightened his glasses.

"You know, then," he said flatly, as Ron put Harry's folded clothes down in front of him. He couldn't understand why they were here, why their faces were not riddled with disgust. He raised his head, so that the scars on his face shone, "I don't care if you go and tell the teachers," he said fiercely, "I'm not ashamed of it. I never will be."

"We're not going to tell the teachers," Hermione replied quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder, "why should we?"

"We're still your friends," Ron added, and he sounded as if he was saying this for his own benefit as well as Harry's. But his face was filled with empathy, and he did not shudder as he pressed Harry's trousers into his hands, "you better put some clothes on, mate, before you freeze to death."

"We'll look away," Hermione smiled, standing up and turning towards the doorway. A gas lamp was hanging from the ceiling, filling the room with a warm, steady light. Harry quickly put his clothes on, but he left Ron's cloak draped over him.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. He felt slow and muggy, as he always did after a transformation. But more than that, he felt bewildered. His memory of the night was blurred, at best, but he knew that Hermione and Ron had come: he remembered their human smell filling his nostrils and driving him to madness. They had seen him, and run away. But now they had come back? It didn't seem possible.

"It's sunrise on Sunday," Hermione told him.

"You know," said Ron, slowly, "no one else is up this early. If you wanted to go for a walk outside with us, no one would see you. I mean, if you want to…"

Harry blinked, and smiled, "yes," he said hoarsely, "I'd like that."

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Rubeus Hagrid yawned as he put his empty breakfast bowl in the sink. The early morning sun streamed in through the window, filling the wooden cabin with golden light. Fang the boarhound wandered between his master's legs, whining.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll let yer' out," Hagrid grumbled, scratching his beard. He went over and opened the door of the cabin, and Fang dashed out onto the lawn, heading for the pumpkin patch to do his morning business. Hagrid stepped out onto his doorstep, breathing in the warm morning air, full of the smell of grass.

"Frost coming soon," he muttered to himself, watching Fang returning with his tongue lolling happily. Suddenly the hound's ears pricked up as the sound of laughter floated across the lawn.

Hagrid turned towards the sound and squinted at the source of the merriment. It was just some students, running towards the castle, calling to each other. They had been playing down by the lake by the look of it, and now two of them, a pair of boys with red and black hair respectively, were chasing the third, a bushy-haired girl, back to the castle.

Hagrid smiled to himself. Funny that students were up this early in the morning. Most of them preferred to sleep as long as they could, especially on a Sunday. _Well, it's good for them to be up_, Hagrid thought as he went down to the pumpkin patch, to stop Fang digging around his new fence-posts.

As Hagrid packed the dirt which Fang had disturbed back down, the boarhound gave a soft bark. Hagrid looked up and saw that the boarhound was staring towards the forest. Hagrid frowned, trying to see what had alarmed the hound.

Then he saw a dark shape standing in the shadows under the trees. Hagrid straightened up and walked towards the forest. It was a huge black dog, shaggy and bright-eyed. As Hagrid approached, the dog paced back and forth beneath the trees, whining quietly. Hagrid had seen this particular dog many times in the last few days. It had been hanging around, just inside the forest, for over a week now. Hagrid had left food for it and the black dog, which had seemed frightened of him at first, now seemed only to want to reach him.

"Here, now, you silly mutt," Hagrid called to it when he was a few feet away. Hagrid was not a superstitious man, so he did not believe in nonsense about a Grim that warned of coming death. This poor dog was probably just a stray that had been driven out of the village and run wild in the forest, "yer can't get in that way, Mutt, as I see you've discovered," Hagrid said aloud. The dog lowered its head and whined piteously.

The dog was not coming any closer for good reason. There were heavy wards all around the school, like invisible walls, that prevented anything larger than a rodent getting onto the school grounds. Hagrid was the only one who could open the walls that guarded the forest. He waved at the dog, "go on, get outta here, yer not gettin' my sympathy," he growled at the dog.

The dog lay down and put its head on its paws and continued to moan and howl. Hagrid grumbled to himself, "too soft for me own good," then headed back to his cabin, the dog's howls following him all the way. After a few minutes he returned to where the dog was waiting, carrying a pink umbrella under his arm.

"Yer not to go running amok tho', yer hear?" Hagrid told the dog as it stood up, it's tongue hanging out and its tail wagging happily. He raised the umbrella and tapped the place in the air where he knew the invisible wards to be. After a moment, the air shimmered and the wards became visible. From Hagrid's point of view, it was as if he was looking at the dog through a wall of gently rippling water. The dog sniffed the now-visible wall and barked a warning at it.

Hagrid pushed the umbrella into the shimmery wall until it had gone as far as his hand, and then turned it, like turning a key in a lock. The air in front of the dog cleared. A door had appeared in the wards.

The dog bounded joyfully through the door without a moment's hesitation. Hagrid continued to grumble to himself as he turned the umbrella again, closing the door and tapping the ward again to make it invisible once more. But the dog stood on its hind legs and put its paws on his belly, its tail wagging furious as it grinned at him.

"Oh, get off me, Mutt," the groundskeeper laughed, and the dog dropped back onto all fours. It sniffed his hand, then licked it happily. Hagrid remembered he had just fed Fang a big steak and there would still be meat juice on his hands, "yer hungry, are ya?"

The dog barked in agreement and Hagrid chuckled, "alright, come on up to my cabin, I'll give yer a meal," he said grudgingly, but his black eyes were twinkling. Tucking the pink umbrella under his arm, he headed back to his house, whistling to himself, the dog trotting beside him. Fang growled at it as it went past.

"Oh, don't be jealous, Fang," Hagrid waved the boarhound away, "he ain't gonna hurt'cha. He's just a poor lost thing."

And with that, he and the great black dog vanished into the wooden cabin.

------------------------------------------------------

TBC


	17. Dumbledore at Last

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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A faintly greenish glow illuminated the walls of the Slytherin common room, the light coming from large lamps chained to the ceiling. It was empty, except for a lone figure who sat curled on one of the wide white couches, his legs drawn up and his head resting on his knees. His hair was so blonde it was almost white, and his skin was pale as marble. He looked dishevelled, his hair uncombed, robes undone and trousers creased, and if he had had not been hiding his face, an observer might have seen that his eyes were red from weeping.

No one was there to see the boy, however. No one else in Slytherin was up this early on a Sunday, with the possible exception of the potions master, Snape, who was roaming the halls as he was wont to do. The boy had been woken by an huge owl screeching in his ear, a black owl flecked with silver feathers. It was his mother's owl: he had silenced it, taken the parchment tied to its leg, and run up to the common room to read in private.

In his hand was clutched a letter. It was written in his mother's fine, swooping writing, but it seemed to have been written in a hurry: there were blotches of ink which could easily have been erased by a quick spell, and many words had been crossed out rather than been charmed into correcting themselves.

_Draco,_ it began, which was unusual in itself, because his mother tended to address him as 'darling Draco' or 'my beloved Draco' when she wrote to him. She also tended to use very flowery language, with many long complaints and sniffy remarks. But, today, the letter was brief and short.

_The Ministry have taken your father only a few minutes ago. They are raiding the house, so I must write quickly before they lock down my means of communication. The trial will be in two days' time, but we have been forbidden from attending. Your father's associates refuse to help us,_ by 'your father's associates' she meant the Death Eaters and their Dark Lord,_ so, unless your father chooses to betray his associates to the Ministry, he will be sentenced to Azkaban within the week, and I do not think he will betray them, he fears them more than he fears that prison. _

_Before they took him Draco, he told me some of their coming plans. Draco, whatever you do, you must stay in the Slytherin Common Room for all of today, Sunday. Your Father's associates will be in the school and if they catch you I fear they will not spare you before other students. Stay in the common room where it is safe, I beg you Draco. This is all your father said to me before they took him. _

"Do not despair, my son…" 

And that was all. Draco sniffed and raised his head, crushing the letter more tightly in his fist. His father, _arrested_! Why wouldn't the Death Eaters help him? Lucius Malfoy was a devoted follower, a loyal servant of the Dark Lord! He had been so for many years! Surely the Death Eaters could rescue him, break him out…

_But they won't_, Draco thought savagely, _because Father is no good to them as a fugitive. He was only useful because of his connections, his money and his power. Once he has lost those, outcast by the Ministry, he's nothing to them…_

Draco bit his lip hard to make the tears go away. Well, if _they_ wouldn't help father, he would have to do it himself. He took the letter in both hands, scanning through it a second time. So, the Death Eaters were planning to enter Hogwarts, today! This much, his father knew. Draco could use that information, if he acted quickly.

Wiping away his tears and moving swiftly now, he pulled out his wand and summoned a quill, ink and parchment. He went over to a stone desk nearby and sat down. He thought for a moment, considering how best to word his new letter. His father had taught him in many forms of etiquette. Should he do his best to sound intimidating, or lofty? _No_, Draco decided finally_, I don't want to threaten them. I don't want to sound too cunning. _He decided the best thing to do would be to forget all his formality – make them think he was nothing more than a frightened child, desperate to help.

_Dear Minister Moody,_ he wrote. That sound informal and weak, just as Draco wanted it to, _My name is Draco Malfoy and I am a Slytherin at Hogwarts School. I have terrible news. I believe that Death Eaters are planning to attack my school this very afternoon_…

Draco continued to pour out his news. He finished the letter with, _I overheard this information from two other children, Gregory Goyle and another boy called Crabbe. I don't know them very well, but I think their fathers might be working for you-know-who. I was very frightened, but I know that it would be best to report this, and I can only beg you to help me and the innocent students of Hogwarts. My father always told me the Ministry is are the only people I can trust in this war, and that they will always protect the good wizards of Britain. However, if my information is correct, I ask you not to tell anyone that I was the one who revealed it to you, but instead make sure it is known that Goyle and Crabbe were the ones who let this secret slip. I am afraid that the forces of you-know-who will take revenge on me and my father, who has always been loyal to the Ministry._

_Yours truly, Draco Malfoy_

Draco put his quill down and lifted the letter up to read through it. Yes, the tone was naïve, stupid even. If the Ministry received it, they would send a task force out to Hogwarts at once, and when they rounded up a number of Death Eaters and saved the school, they would forget about any evidence they had against his father – the Minister himself would surely pardon Lucius Malfoy for his son's tip-off.

Draco paused. But, what if the Death Eaters _did_ find out who had let the Ministry know about their attack? What would they do to him and his father? He knew what they did to traitors and their families…horrible things…

_I will not lose Father to Azkaban! _Draco thought bitterly. The Minister would understand. Moody would not let the Death Eaters know who had given them the tip-off. Draco's father would be sensible enough to tell his Master that it was gold – not information – that had convinced the Ministry to free him. And everything would be well again.

Draco whistled, and the black owl with its silver speckles fluttered out of the dormitories. The boy tied his letter to the owl's leg, instructing it very carefully to bring it _straight_ to the Minister of Magic himself, and nobody else. Then he took the owl in his arms and carried it out of the common room, heading for the nearest window, and released it into the sky.

----------------------------------

"Oh, stop it, stop it!" Hermione gasped, clutching a stitch in her side and leaning against the wall of the castle for support, still laughing. Ron and Harry, their faces flushed with the exertion of chasing her, sat down against the wall to get their breath back. They were in the entrance hall, but it was still empty. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and many of the older students would be staying in bed late, sleeping off the effects of a long afternoon at the Three Broomsticks the day before.

"Come on, I'd better get back to the Room of Requirement," Harry said, once he had his breath back, "the teachers will be awake by now."

They headed up the nearest staircase, and suddenly Ron threw out an arm to stop them, his mouth ajar. Hermione and Harry looked at him in confusion, and Ron pointed up to another flight of stairs, two floors above them.

"Dumbledore!" he whispered, as awe-struck as if he had just shaken hands with the captain of the Chudley cannons. Harry and Hermione followed his finger, and Harry recognised the tall figure of the headmaster, his long white beard shining in the morning light. A regal woman in green, whom Harry didn't recognise, was walking beside him.

"He must be back from the Ministry at last," Hermione's face broke into a radiant smile.

"Come on!" Ron grabbed both their hands, "we're going to lose him if we don't hurry!"

The three of them began to run, taking the steps two at a time. They were laughing as they went, already half-exhausted by their mad race around the lake, and now, after two weeks of searching, to finally have found Dumbledore! It was too good to be true.

When he was still a flight above him, the Headmaster and his female companion turned off and went down one of the corridors. The three children reached it mere moments later, and saw the end of Dumbledore's robes disappearing around the corner at the far end. They ran faster, their feet pounding on the stone floor, Ron roaring ahead with his long legs and Hermione yelling motivation from behind.

"_Stop right there, Miss Granger! Mr Weasley! And… you! Stop!_"

All through children skidded to a halt, and Hermione crashed into Harry, nearly knocking him over. Ron grabbed them both to keep them upright as they spun around to see a dark-haired Professor charging towards them, his black robes billowing like a bat's wings.

"Snape!" Hermione moaned, "oh, he won't let us go until he's sure he can't find a reason to give us detention!"

"What are you doing, running around at this hour?" Snape was hissing like a snake as he approached, seeming glide down the corridor, "and you…" his sharp black gaze pierced Harry, "who are you?"

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry and pushed him in the direction Dumbledore had gone, "go…we'll distract Snape…just go!"

Harry glanced at the two of them, but they both nodded at him, and he turned and fled.

"STOP!" Snape's bellow followed him, "STOP, YOU!"

"_Run! RUN!_" Hermione and Ron shouted together.

Harry skidded around the corner and all three were lost from sight. The next corridor, lined by golden windows, was empty – but there, at the far end, the door was just closing – Harry put all his strength into racing onwards. He slammed into the door at the far end and crashed through it, bounced off the wall on the other side. There was a dead end to his left, but to his right was another corridor…and there, there was Dumbledore, standing outside a pair of stone Gargoyles, bidding the woman goodbye.

"_Professor, wait!"_ Harry yelled, and he was running again, he was _flying_ down the corridor. The woman and Dumbledore both looked up at the sound of his voice, and Harry slammed to a halt in front of them, nearly falling flat on his face, just managing to catch himself by throwing his arms out.

"Professor," he panted, breathless, but feeling a huge bubble of joy well up in him as he looked at Dumbledore, took in the sparkles of his white beard, the clear blue eyes, and each wise wrinkle in his face, "Professor, you may not remember me, but my name is Harry Potter and I need to speak to you."

Dumbledore did not speak for several long moments. He was looking at Harry as if Harry had just asked him to recite Homer's _The Illiad_ by memory. His face was expressionless, except for the faintest quizzical knot in his brow, his lips parted in the barest amount of bemusement. Harry was not looking at the woman, who was simply staring at Harry.

Finally, Dumbledore closed his mouth and folded his hands in front of him. The faintest smile flickered on his lips, "yes, I remember you, Harry. You do not look as though you have changed that much."

"Er, I suppose not," said Harry, and he realised Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling.

"But I suspect there are more changes below the surface, Harry?" Dumbledore phrased it as a question, but he did not seem to expect an answer. He turned to the woman, who was still looking speechless, "Emmeline, thank you for escorting me home, though I assure you, I did not need it. If you will excuse me, I must talk to Harry. I bid you good-day."

"But, Albus…" Emmeline looked at him, "this boy…"

"Good _day_, Mrs Vance," Dumbledore said with only a trace of firmness.

Emmeline Vance looked back at Harry, then nodded at Dumbledore, straightened her shoulders and glided away. As she turned, Harry recognised the badge of an auror on her shoulder.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, shaking his head silently, "sherbet lemon," he said quietly.

"Pardon?" said Harry.

But he realised, as the two stone gargoyles on Dumbledore's left sprang aside, that this was the password to get into Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore did not speak, but beckoned for Harry to follow him up a winding staircase, through a heavy oak door, and into the room beyond.

It was a very beautiful room, filled with magnificent portraits of previous headmasters and mistresses, strange golden instruments, shelves of books and curious objects, and other mysterious items. Harry saw a huge red and gold bird, looking rather the worse for wear, perched on a pole at the back, its head tucked under its wing, and realised it was a real phoenix.

"A seat, if you would, Harry," Dumbledore waved his hand and a carved chair slid out from the shadows and positioned itself in front of a wide wooden desk covered in coloured pieces of paper and tiny silver contraptions. Harry lowered himself onto the seat, still gazing around in wonder, and Dumbledore sat down on the other side of the desk.

Dumbledore took a few moments fiddling with one of the silver contraptions. Harry waited, trying very not to jiggle up and down in impatience. He had been waiting for this for two weeks – for a year – for _eight_ years – and now that he was here, ready to ask his questions, he could not longer remember what it was he was supposed to be asking about.

At last, Dumbledore looked up with a small smile, "just making sure we are not overheard," he said, indicating the contraption had been adjusting, "now, Harry, I imagine you have something to ask me?"

"Yes," said Harry breathlessly. Where did he begin? "Yes, _everything_."

Dumbledore entwined his long, thin fingers together and waited.

"Well," Harry licked his lips, "well, I want to know what my scar means. The one I got when you-know-who killed my parents."

"Voldemort, Harry," said Dumbledore, and Harry flinched at little at the use of the name, "let us not veil him in fear."

"Alright," said Harry, "when V-voldermort killed my parents. But I also want to know why Sirius keeps me a secret. And I want to know why Neville Longbottom has the same scar as me. But suppose – it's all one question, really, isn't it? Everything's linked together."

"It is," nodded Dumbledore, and leant back a little into his chair, "and in that case, you have put it upon me to begin the tale. So where do I begin? I suppose," he mused, "we begin where the two of us left off – in St Mungo's Hospital, where I saw you last. I told your godfather something that day, which motivated him to flee with you within the hour, and keep you hidden from me for seven years."

"Eight years," Harry corrected automatically.

"Seven years," Dumbledore replied firmly, "so, Sirius has never told you what it was I told him? You have never known why your godfather has kept you hidden all these years, raised you in secret?"

"He told me it was because I was a werewolf," Harry said softly, "but after a while, I realised that couldn't be true. But he wouldn't tell me anything else. But this is to do with my scar?"

"In a way," said Dumbledore, "that scar is a mark, nothing more, Harry. As I see it, it is far more meaningless than Neville Longbottom's scar – for _his_ is the scar that _you_ should have borne Harry. He is living the life that _you_, perhaps, in another world, should have lived. But, I am distracting myself," he waved his hand at the air, "we were talking about St Mungo's, and your godfather's reckless escape. I asked him to do something that day, Harry, which nobody should ever have asked of him. Something he would never do. And how I regret my rashness, now. I misjudged Sirius: I misjudged his love for you. And because of my foolishness, _you_ have suffered, you have lived in hiding, in ignorance," Dumbledore paused, his eyes drifting to one of the silver instruments on his desk.

"Professor?" Harry asked tremulously, "are you going to tell me what it was you asked him to do?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said slowly, "I asked your godfather to kill you."

A great silence followed this. Harry swore he could hear the phoenix snoring from across the room. He frowned, looking at Dumbledore's long fingers, than raised his head to meet the headmaster's gaze, "why?" was the only word he could speak.

"Because you were sick, and mutilated," Dumbledore said heavily, "because you were surviving by the barest thread of strength. Because I foresaw, for you, a life that would be filled with pain, fear, and swift or slow death at an early age. Because I wanted to spare you that – I wanted to spare Sirius that. Because, as I said, I underestimated his devotion to you and the power he had to protect you. And because, Harry, twelve of my students were dead on your behalf and in that moment, I wanted, more than anything, to hurt Voldemort – to strike a blow against him that he would _feel_, that he would know and understand."

Harry felt a bitter lump rise in the throat, making his voice come in a croak, "by killing _me?_ How could killing me hurt Voldemort?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, both of them heard footsteps on the stairs outside, and then the door burst open with such violence that it banged against the wall behind it, making a book topple from its shelf and awakening the phoenix on its perch, which raised its head with a sharp cry of protest.

Remus Lupin was standing there, panting slightly. He looked exhausted and thin, since he, like Harry, had spent the previous night as a wolf, although in his case, one that was sedated by potion. His wand was drawn and he was pointing it straight at Dumbledore, fury twisting his normally serene features. His eyes flicked over to Harry, who had stood up when the door opened.

"Oh, thank God," said Lupin. He took a step forward, grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and pulled the boy to his chest, in a rough one-armed hug. His wand never wavered from Dumbledore's face.

Harry, who was so full of shock and confusion he felt dizzy, was calmed by Lupin's familiar smell, and he stood trembling beside his honorary uncle. He could not look at Lupin's face, nor at Dumbledore's, but instead focussed his gaze on the phoenix, now stretching its wings on the other side of the room.

"Remus…" began Dumbledore, making to stand up.

"Don't you touch him," said Lupin, and his voice was so full of emotion Harry felt a little frightened. He had never heard Lupin speak like that before, "don't you come near him. I'll kill you first."

"Remus," said Dumbledore tensely, getting to his feet despite the warning sparks that shot from the end of Lupin's wand, "first of all, I would like to see you try, and second, you are seriously mistaken if you are thinking what I think you think."

"Then you're wrong," said Lupin, his voice harsh and terse, "and I may not be able to kill you Dumbledore, but do not think I am helpless against you. I will defend Harry like a wolf defends its cubs."

"Very poetic, Remus," said Dumbledore. He reached into his robes, and Lupin's grip on his wand tightened: a few more sparks shot out the end. Dumbledore's hand emerged holding his wand, but before Lupin could do anything, he placed the wand on his desk and stepped back, "there," he said, "I am unarmed. Now, will you lower your wand and calm down a little, Remus? I have not finished answering Harry's questions."

Lupin loosened his hold on the scruff of Harry's neck. He looked surprised, and a little confused, but after a moment, he let his hand fall to his side, though he did not put his wand away.

Harry looked up at the man's face, "how did you know I was here?" he asked.

"I met Miss Granger and Mr Weasley on my way back from my office," Lupin replied, glancing down at Harry with a small smile, "having a very loud argument with Professor Snape in a corridor along the way. They told me where you had gone, with the excuse that you didn't need to be kept a secret now Dumbledore knew about you."

Both of them looked at the headmaster, "does he know, yet?" Lupin asked grimly.

"Know what?" Harry asked.

"No. A rather rude person interrupted us," Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Lupin over his half-moon spectacles, "but if both of you will kindly sit down, I can continue."

Lupin did not seem to want to sit down, but Harry took his seat once more, and Lupin came to stand protectively behind him, resting his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Sirius has kept Harry a secret from you for eight years," Lupin said weakly, "because he was afraid of what you would do. You cannot tell me those fears were baseless."

"Sirius did very well to keep Harry a secret so long, and certainly, his fears of the Ministry and Voldemort's followers were not baseless," Dumbledore replied, "his fears of me, however, were heavier than they needed have been. And you are not entirely correct, Remus. Sirius has only kept Harry a secret from me for seven years – not eight."

Lupin frowned a little, "what's that supposed to mean?" his eyes widened, "but…if you've known about Harry before now, why didn't you act sooner? I know you want Harry dead."

"Remus, I do _not_ want Harry dead," Dumbledore said in exasperation, "and if I did, I could have sent members of the Order to the old Black mansion anytime in the last year to kill him. But I have not."

"You knew they were living at the Black house. How…?" Lupin asked, gripping Harry's shoulders very hard. Harry knew exactly was he was thinking: Lupin feared that, in some way, _he_ had unwittingly revealed Harry and Sirius to the headmaster.

Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder at the portraits behind him, "Phineas," he called, "Phineas, don't you want to say hello?" his eyes were on a portrait of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, with robes that were painted the Slytherin green and silver, who was feigning sleep with his eyes half-open, "come, Phineas, there's no need for silly theatrics today."

The portrait raised his head and stretched, "oh, it's you, boy," he said, looking at Harry, "I wondered that I didn't recognise your voice."

Harry recognised Phineas' voice as well. He stared at the portrait, "you…you're the one hanging in my room at Grimmauld Place. I talk to you all the time."

"Yes, and I must say, you're a dreadful bore," Phineas remarked, yawning dramatically.

"As soon as they first moved into number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Phineas reported Sirius and Harry's whereabouts to me," Dumbledore explained, "so there's no need to worry, Remus, you were not the one to give them away. Though I think you should have been at least a little suspicious when I gave you James' old invisibility cloak with so little protest. You might have guessed I knew you were planning to hand it on to Harry."

"I…I thought I'd shielded my mind from you as well as I could," Lupin replied faintly.

"Very well, but I had no need to pry," Dumbledore said, "and now you understand why Harry never received a letter to Hogwarts, which would probably have tracked him down despite Sirius' best efforts. I tore that letter up before it could leave this school. And I have provided you, Remus, with all the books you asked me for, hoping that you would be satisfied with Harry's education as it was, and not try and convince Sirius to let Harry attend school."

"Why?" Harry burst out, "I thought that was just Sirius who didn't want me at Hogwarts!"

Dumbledore sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, "I am sorry, Harry. It is one of the cruelest things I have ever done, to deprive a child of their right to a place at this school, especially when I have let so many other…_unusual_ students in," he glanced at Lupin as he said this, "but you must see that I have my reasons."

"Then tell me!" Harry fumed, "I am sick of you all avoiding the truth like it's something I don't need to hear! You – Sirius – Lupin, stop _hinting_ and just _tell me_."

"Harry," said Dumbledore, gathering himself, "you are carrying within you a piece of Voldemort's soul, which he implanted in you the day he killed your mother. You are what is known as a Horcrux, an object that binds a soul to earth and prevents the person who has created the Horcrux from ever dying until the Horcrux has been destroyed. Voldemort has contrived a number of such objects, and you, I believe, were his most recent."

Harry stared at the solemn blue eyes, tried to speak, then realised he had nothing to say. He looked up at Lupin, "you knew?"

Lupin did not meet his eye, but continued watching Dumbledore. Slowly, he nodded his head, "Sirius swore me to secrecy."

"Don't blame Sirius for this," said Harry bitterly. His hands were clenched in his lap so hard his nails were biting into the palms of his hands. He thought for a moment, and suddenly understood what Dumbledore was saying, "V-voldermort…he can't die…until I'm dead?" he asked softly.

Dumbledore nodded, "you understand, now, why your godfather never wanted you to know this. You see why I, knowing that Sirius had protected you successfully for so many years, did not want you to come to this school, when Voldemort will _kill_ to keep you alive. I am sorry, Harry," he said, and his voice was suddenly old and full of sorrow, "I have been too harsh on you. Too harsh, too selfish, too foolhardy. That must stop now," he sighed.

"What about Neville?" said Harry suddenly, "is Neville one of these…Horcrux things as well?"

Dumbledore shook his head, "No, Neville is not a Horcrux. In a way, he is your polar opposite, Harry. He is prophesised to be the only one who can defeat Lord Voldemort, and he is the only one to survive a killing curse from him. He must live if Voldemort is to fall. You must…" but he did not finish the sentence, as if he had suddenly realised the full weight of what he was saying, but the word 'die' hung in the air like a choking stench.

Harry put his face in his hands, rubbing his scars to soothe them, "he'll have to kill me, won't he?" he said quietly, "Neville. That's the way these things go, isn't it?"

"No," said Dumbledore sharply, "you must not think like that. Your situation is unique in all the world, and all history. I have never found a record of another living human being who has been used as a Horcrux. What I mean to say, Harry, is that there is every possibility that we can extract Voldemort's soul – or destroy it – _without_ your death."

Harry raised his head, "you think so?" he said dully, "maybe, I won't have to die to kill Voldemort?"

"I cannot promise you anything," replied Dumbledore heavily, "but I know one thing. If the time comes, Harry…_when_ the time comes, it will your choice to make, and your choice alone. I tried to have you killed once, because you were young and unable to make the choice for yourself, and I regret ever thinking such a thing. Now you are old enough to know the truth, you are old enough to decide your own fate."

Harry nodded. He put his hand over Lupin's and squeezed it, because he could feel the distress radiating off Lupin and he wanted to comfort him.

"Now there are more pressing matters to attend to," said Dumbledore, getting to his feet again and picking up his wand, "by very bad luck, Harry, you chose rather an unfortunate moment to reveal yourself to me. I was totally unaware that you were in the castle: all I knew from Phineas was that you left Grimmauld Place and disappeared two weeks ago. I have been very busy at the Ministry, but most inconveniently, that woman standing beside me when you told me your name downstairs was Emmeline Vance, the second in command in the auror division, under Minister Alastor Moody. And I have no doubt that she has now gone straight to the Minister and told him that a boy who has been missing for eight years has suddenly surfaced out of the blue."

"He knows about me?" Harry asked, while Lupin gave a small gasp.

"He knows everything about you, Harry," said Dumbledore gravely, "it is his business as Alastor Moody, ex-auror and paranoid Minister for Magic, to know these things. And I'm sorry to say, that he has rather an unforgiving opinion of you."

"Oh, no," said Lupin, "you can't mean…?"

Dumbledore went to the door and opened it, "I think that Alastor Moody will be setting out at this very moment, with Emmeline Vance and at least two dementors, to have them perform the lethal kiss on Harry as soon as they can get their hands on him. And I, for one, am firmly opposed to such a notion. So, Lupin, if you would please come with me, and Harry, I would rather you returned to Gryffindor tower, if you would, until I or one of the other Professors comes to collect you."

And he strode down the steps, Harry and Lupin following quickly at his heels.

-----------------------------------------

TBC

A/N: Well, it's finally finished. Dumbledore and Harry's reckoning. Some of you will be going 'what the hell?' and some of you will be going, 'hey, I _liked_ nasty Dumbledore'. But I found, as soon as I began to write Dumbledore, I could not make him nasty. He simply wasn't Dumbledore any more.


	18. The Mustering

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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A dark red bolt slammed into the silvery shield, and Nymphadora staggered back, the shield vanishing like a wisp of smoke.

"Get up! Faster!"

Tonks raised her wand but a second bolt was already bursting from her opponent's wand and she flittered sideways, crying, "Expelliarmus!"

Her aim was way off; the spell ricocheted off the stone wall and evaporated. However, Tonks had already cried a second incantation and this one struck home, wrapping her opponent in tendrils of fog that contracted and pinned their arms to their sides. Tonks grinned in triumph, but her grin vanished as her momentum made her take two more steps backwards. She lost her footing and staggered, barely managing to throw out her arms to cushion her fall onto the solid stone.

When she looked up, Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing over her, having freed himself of her smoke-spell, his wand pointed straight at her heart.

"And bang, you're dead," he said. He lowered his wand and held out a hand to help Tonks to her feet.

"Yet again, Miss Tonks," the tall wizard said in his deep, baritone voice, "your centre of gravity betrays you."

"It's not my fault," Tonks grumbled, wincing as she stood up. She had landed rather hard on her hip. Yet another bruise, "I just fell over."

"It is your one failing, Tonks," Kingsley said seriously, "look at you. Top marks in social interaction, potions, ward-work, languages – but you cannot coordinate yourself to save your own life. Tonks, you _are_ going to fail the next examination if you do not get this…clumsiness under your control."

Tonks' shoulders slumped, "I know," she said, unable to meet Kingsley's piercing gaze. She liked Kingsley, though as a full auror he rarely had time to give lessons to the students who were training to be dark wizards hunters like himself.

"Come on, Tonks," Kingsley said, patting her shoulder, "keep that chin up. We've got four weeks until the exam. We'll get there."

They left the stone room and headed through the corridors of the auror headquarters, a great maze of long wooden buildings situated on a highly-enchanted old swamp. Kingsley turned off as they passed his office, "Catch you later, Nymphadora," he said, raising one hand to say goodbye.

Tonks paused, steeling herself, then said, "Kingsley, wait a moment."

The black wizard turned back to her.

"Er… I thought I'd ask you," Tonks twisted her hands, and decided it was best to just spit it out, "I heard that they were sending a taskforce to Romania next month, after my exam, and they're short a few spaces, so they were bringing a couple of students. Is there any chance I could be part of the team? I thought, maybe, well…I'd like some hands-on experience…"

Kingsley's brows furrowed, "this wouldn't have anything to do with Charlie Weasley working in Romania, would it, Tonks?"

Tonks dropped her hands to her sides, not bothering to deny it, "he hardly ever gets to come home, and I want to visit him. I wouldn't interfere with anything. I'd just pop over and say hello, see his dragons, jinx his shampoo again, maybe."

But Kingsley was shaking his head, "I can't promise you anything, Tonks. Emmeline Vance is in charge of assembling the task force, and she'll pick the students she feels are most apt," he took in Tonks' disappointed face, "but if you really want to go," he added, "have a word to her. Now, I've got to get some paperwork typed up, so I'll see you later," he slipped into his office and shut the door.

Tonks sighed and headed onwards. Emmeline Vance was second in command of the aurors under the Minister himself, and she was a cold and forbidding woman. Tonks had only spoken to her once or twice in the past year, and did not fancy trying to convince her of anything, let alone that a pink-haired, clumsy, second-year auror-in-training was fit for a high-security mission to Romania. Besides, Emmeline Vance had been at the Ministry for over a week, and Tonks did not have a clue when she might be coming back to headquarters.

So when, to her surprise, she caught sight of Emmeline striding across the open grounds, her green robes dulled by the fog that hung perpetually over auror headquarters, Tonks did not waste a moment in chasing after her. Emmeline must have just arrived, since her cheeks were pink from the exertion of apparating. She was also walking very quickly, so that Tonks practically had to run just to keep up with her.

She briefly lost sight of Emmeline in the fog, then saw a flash of green around the corner of the long wing where the brooms were kept, and heard Emmeline's voice float across the grounds, "_…Minister!…_". A moment later came the dull thud of Minister Moody's wooden leg on the packed earth.

Tonks paused, feeling a little frustrated. Emmeline was just around the corner, but she obviously wanted to speak to Minister Moody at once, and it would be unforgivably rude of Tonks to rush up and demand her attention. On the other hand, Tonks couldn't stand here listening in on their conversation, which would certainly be interpreted as eavesdropping. But if she went away, Emmeline might be gone before she came back, and Tonks would not get to ask her about Romania…

As she hovered around the corner, torn by indecision, Tonks caught a few of Emmeline's words, though the woman was speaking to the Minister in a low tone, "…_Harry Potter is at Hogwarts…Dumbledore seems to be protecting the boy…"_

Tonks froze. Two thoughts flashed through her mind. The first was a memory of Sirius, taking her hand and telling her that neither the Ministry nor Dumbledore must ever know that Harry was alive. The second was the knowledge that the Minister need only glimpse in her direction with his magical eye and he would see her standing there, whether or not there was solid wood walls between them – and Tonks knew Alastor Moody would not believe that she was listening accidentally. She had to act quickly

A moment later, Nymphadora Tonks was gone. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing where she had been a moment before. Tonks looked down at her brown hands, Kingsley's hands, and saw that she still had the body of a woman, even if her face was Kingsley's. She gritted her teeth and drew her cloak around herself, to cover the curves.

She stepped around the corner and Emmeline fell silent and looked up. Tonks nodded to her, then to the Minister, and felt relief flood through her. Minister Moody was leaning his elbow on his staff, holding a glass of water in his hand, in which he was swirling his magical blue eye. Tonks did not know if a magical eye could see through the disguise of a metamorphmagus, but she did not want to find out the hard way. Moody nodded to her without any apparent suspicion.

"What's this about the Potter boy?" she said gruffly. Her metamorphmagus abilities did could not change her voice, but she had long ago learned to imitate the voices of others. It came in handy when you were trying to give Fred and George Weasley a fright by pretending to be their mother.

Emmeline looked at the Minister for reassurance. Moody growled to Tonks, "he's been found, Shacklebolt. Dumbledore's got the lad."

Tonks nodded, "and what do you propose we do about it?"

"What we've always planned to do," Moody shrugged, and turned to Emmeline, "you head over to Azkaban now, Emmeline, and find a pair of dementors we know are loyal to us."

"Dementors?" Tonks interrupted before she could stop herself.

Moody swung his single eye in her direction, "aye, dementors," he said, "we have to have them perform the kiss on the boy before this news spreads around," Tonks heard in his voice the undeniable note of suspicion: the unspoken words '_but you should already have known that, Shacklebolt…'_

"Well, of course," Tonks said hastily, "but surely you'll want to hold him in custody for a few days first?"

Moody turned towards Tonks now, and there was no doubt he had lost his casual edge, "no, there's no need. We already know everything we need to know."

He seemed to be waiting for Kingsley to reply to this, but Tonks did not know what he expected her to say. Panicking, she decided now was the moment to bail, "well, shall I go and find a pair of aurors who can keep their mouths shut? You surely won't be going to Hogwarts yourself, Minister."

"Of course I will," Moody said. He put two fingers into the jar, bobbing his magical eye up and down, "but yes, you do that, Kingsley."

Tonks nodded to him and strode away across the grounds, cursing under her breath, forcing herself not to look back. She could feel Minister Moody's eyes watching her as she headed around the nearest building and vanished into the mist.

-------------------------------------------------

Moody plucked his magical eye out of the glass and pushed it back into the empty socket in his face. He watched Kingsley's retreating back with an expressionless face.

Emmeline was also watching the dark-skinned wizard until he was out of sight, "Was it just me, but was Kingsley acting rather odd?" she said, turning to Moody, "and he seemed to be a lot _shorter_ than usual."

"That wasn't Kingsley," Minister Moody's face remained blank, or as blank as a man's face can be when it is as badly scarred as Alastor Moody's was.

"_What_?" Emmeline tensed and her hand flew to her robe where she kept her wand.

Moody merely frowned, "it was that student, the metamorphmagus – you know the girl. I think he name is Tonks. But what could possible interest could she have in the Potter lad?"

Emmeline relaxed a little, "oh, Tonks, I think I know her. Kingsley said she's always up to mischief. Well, she's gone too far this time – spying on the Minister for Magic! That's enough to warrant termination of her auror training, if she doesn't own up to it."

Moody continued to stare at the spot where 'Kingsley' had disappeared, "she wasn't just making mischief," he said, but before he could muse any further, a woman appeared out of the mist not far away and called out to them.

"Minister! Minister – _ouch!_ _Get off, you blasted thing –_ Minister, a letter!" It was Hestia Jones, a senior auror. Her black hair was bobbing as she dashed across the packed earth, waving a piece of parchment in her hand. A large black owl was flying after her, trying to snatch the parchment back. It banked sharply when it saw Moody, then flew towards him and began to circle him like a vulture.

"Jones, I'm having a private conversation with Emmeline," Moody growled, "whatever it is, file it and be done with it."

Hestia waved the parchment. She was one of the few senior aurors who bickered with Moody on a regular basis, "that damn owl was pretty desperate to reach you, Minister, I nearly lost three fingers trying to get this letter. It could have been cursed or anything, so don't you tell me piss off, I was doing you a favour."

"Well, it clearly _wasn't_ cursed, so what's the problem?" the Minister grunted.

"Trust me, Minister," said Hestia, thrusting the letter at him, "you'll want to read this."

The seriousness in her voice made Moody hesitate to make another retort. Passing the glass of water to Emmeline, he took the parchment and unfolded it, scanning through it quickly with both eyes. At last, he raised his head, then turned to Emmeline, "muster all the senior aurors not involved in vital work," he said, and there was an icy tone to his voice, "get them geared up and ready to move into battle lines in two hours."

Emmeline shot a look at Hestia, then turned back to the Minister, "what's happened? Where are we going?"

"Hogwarts," said Moody, stuffing the letter into his robes. He began to limp across the grounds, Hestia and Emmeline walking on either side, "that letter was from Lucius Malfoy's son. He claims that Death Eaters are planning to invade the school this very afternoon."

Emmeline gave a derisive snort, "and you believe him?"

"We just arrested his father," Moody replied, "we have irrefutable evidence that Malfoy has been a death eater for over a decade now. I'm willing to bet his son will do anything to keep his father out of prison – including selling us a few Death Eater secrets in the hope of getting his father a pardon. Well, I'm not one to waste a reliable tip-off," he said, turning back to Hestia and Emmeline, "and there can be only one reason they have gone to the castle. They, like us, have just discovered the whereabouts of Harry Potter."

-------------------------------------------

"I want to stay with you," Harry whispered, clutching Lupin's sleeve. Dumbledore was waiting a few feet away down the corridor, looking at Lupin expectantly.

"I have to go with the headmaster," said Lupin softly, disentangling Harry from his robe, "you should do as Dumbledore says, and go back to Gryffindor Tower."

Harry opened his mouth to protest again, but Lupin put his hand on the young boy's head and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead to silence him. Harry stood and watched Lupin return to Dumbledore's side, and then he spun on his heels and headed away. He felt as if his brain was full of cotton wool, and his legs were moving mechanically. Echoes were ringing in his ears…_scar…Voldemort…death…_ and that strange new word, _Horcrux…_

He had to die. Dumbledore had said that perhaps there was a way to save him…but the headmaster had not sounded very reassuring when he said it. Harry shook his muggy head, trying to comprehend the idea: he was going to _die_. He was twelve years old. He had never comprehended death. His parents had _died_, but that was something that adults did, that wasn't something that concerned Harry. Real children like Harry did not _die_, that was only something that children in the newspaper did. Death was a word, like scar, and Horcrux.

Harry had never wanted to live more than he did now.

"Harry!" he looked up, and two blurs were running towards him. Harry realised his eyes were out of focus because they were full of tears. He blinked and his sight cleared. Hermione and Ron collided with him in a tumble of hugging, both of them warm, noisy and familiar.

"Oh, you're alright!"

"Professor Lupin, we saw him…"

"…he took off…"

"…had this awful look on his face…"

"…he swore! I wouldn't have thought he knew how! Then he started running…"

"Snape wouldn't let us follow him or we would have come see you…"

"…were so worried…"

"…oh, _Harry_…"

Both of them were grinning as they stepped back, and Ron said eagerly, "so what _happened?_ You spoke to Dumbledore, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Harry. His voice sounded very fuzzy, like it was coming through a badly-tuned radio.

"And…?" Hermione pressed.

Harry did not reply. Hermione and Ron suddenly seemed to realise that his face was not blank from relief, but from shock.

"He's not letting you stay…?" Hermione croaked, tears suddenly welling up in her eyes, "oh, but he's _got_ to!"

"No, it's not that," Harry said quickly. He had completely forgotten his fears about staying at Hogwarts and about what house he would be in. What trivial fears they had been, "we didn't talk about that," he looked at his feet, then back at his two friends, "I should go to Gryffindor tower. I'll tell you everything there."

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other and then nodded. The three of them headed through the castle. They remained silent, but Hermione and Ron shot fleeting looks of concern in Harry's direction every few moments. Harry kept his eyes ahead, refusing to look either of them in the eye.

"Oh, no," Ron groaned, as they turned a corner and saw a tall, dark-clad figure waiting for them. It was Professor Snape, the Potions Master. He strode towards them and the three children halted. Ron was staring mutinously at Snape, waiting for him to speak.

But Snape had eyes only for Harry. And, indeed, his eyes were wide with disbelief, "you, boy. You're not a student. You shouldn't be here. What's your name?"

Harry looked at Ron. He did not like the icy tone in the Potion Master's voice.

"Answer me, boy!" Snape snarled.

Harry raised his head and looked him square in the face, "I'm Harry Potter," he said, speaking with rather more composure than he felt, "I came to speak to Dumbledore. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to Gryffindor Tower."

Harry had expected Snape to glare and then let him pass. After all, Potter was not a name Snape would recognise, was it? But Snape did not move. His mouth fell open a little, and his a look of utmost revulsion flicker over his sallow features. A lock of greasy hair fell over his cheek, but he did not push it away. He simply stared at Harry.

"Well?" said Ron huffily, "you've already given Hermione and me a detention. Can we leave, now?"

"Manners, Weasley," Snape snapped back to normal, and his black eyes swept over Hermione and Ron, "you two may go. I must speak with Mr Potter myself."

Hermione's hand shot out and grabbed a hold of Harry's arm.

"I have instructions from Dumbledore," Harry said firmly, "please don't waylay me."

"You'll do as I say, boy," Snape reached for Harry's arm, but Ron darted out and stood between Harry and the Potions Professor, while Hermione pulled Harry back a little. A grimace plastered itself on Snape's face, "both of you get out of here, before I give you a week's worth of detentions!"

"Take it up with Dumbledore," Harry realised his heart was thumping now. Why was he so afraid of this man? He'd never met him before in his life. But Snape knew who _he_ was. There was no doubt about that, "I have to do as he says."

Snape stepped forward so that Ron's nose was inches away from the high black collar of his robes. It was a credit to Ron's strength of will that his knees did not collapse right there and then.

Hermione was gripping Harry's arm so hard it was starting to cut off the circulation to his fingers. Harry's pried her fingers off and stepped up beside Ron, "alright, Professor," he said, and Ron gave a sharp gasp, "I'll come with you," he looked back at Hermione and Ron, "you two had better go back and tell Dumbledore I'll be a little late to meet him. You know where to find him."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but then she caught Harry's eye and thought better of it. Snape took a moment to reply. When he did, it was in a strained voice, "I will go a speak to the Headmaster at once," he said, his lips barely movement, "now, all three of you, get out of my sight."

They did not need any further urging. The three children were off like a shot and around the corner so fast anyone might have thought they had been hit by banishing charms. They did not stop running until they reached the staircase that lead up to Gryffindor tower.

Panting, Ron leaned on the rail, "phew! What was _that_ about?" he looked at Harry, "I've never _seen_ Snape so angry! He looked like he wanted to hex the lot of us into next week."

"I don't know," Harry shook his head, "I've never met the man before in my life."

"Blimey, he wasn't too eager to let Dumbledore know he was trying to get a hold of you, was he?"

Hermione was gnawing on her lip, "that's really scary, you know. Professor Snape is a teacher at Hogwarts, he shouldn't be trying to act behind Dumbledore's back."

"We can't go up to Gryffindor tower, now," said Harry quietly.

Hermione rounded on him, "why not?"

"Snape knows that's where I was going," Harry said, looking up the marble staircase, "and…well…I don't think I want him to know where I'm going. I think I'm afraid of him."

"Oh, don't be stupid," Hermione said, "Professor Dumbledore said you had to go to Gryffindor tower because it would be _safe_ there. Where else do you plan to go?"

"Lupin's office?" Ron suggested, looking at Harry, "after all, now that he seems to be your friend and all…"

"No," said Harry, "he's probably not there, and it might be locked. But I don't want to go back to the Room of Requirement or I won't know what's happening. We should go somewhere where it's crowded. It will be harder for anyone to find us, then."

"Harry, please, let's just go back to the common room," said Hermione, stepping onto the marble staircase, "I promise you, Snape's _always_ a bit grumpy. It's not as if he's not out to get you or anything."

Ron's put his hand on his stomach, "no, let's go down to the Great Hall. I'm starving. We didn't get any breakfast."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, though he did not feel remotely hungry. But the thought of being blend in among many other students was comforting.

"Ron!" Hermione began furiously.

"Come on, Hermione, it's nearly lunchtime," the red-haired boy headed down the staircase instead of up it, "and a spot of lunch will do us all some good."

------------------------------------------

However, neither Ron nor Hermione really wanted to eat once they sat down in the great hall and actually began to notice how very morose Harry was looking. He seemed to be getting paler and greener by the minute, which was exactly the opposite effect meeting Dumbledore was supposed to have achieved.

They were both sitting opposite Harry on one of the long house tables in the Great Hall. The hall was not crowded, since it was just a bit too early for a Sunday lunch but a lot of people had come in for a very late breakfast.

"Please tell us," said Hermione quietly, "what has happened? What did Professor Dumbledore say to you?"

Harry did not want to speak. The numbness that had overcome him when Dumbledore had relayed everything to him was beginning to wear off. The more he thought about what he had learned, the more he felt as if he was going to be sick. His brain kept trying to deny it, but each time it screamed that this was all some big joke, the headmaster's words wriggled a little bit deeper.

Finally he said, "Dumbledore told me the truth."

And then he began to explain to them what exactly he was.

-----------------------------------

TBC


	19. Enter Tonks and Lestrange

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

------------------------------------------

With a crack, Nymphadora Tonks apparated into the main street of Hogsmeade. She stumbled as she appeared, disorientated by the journey, then caught herself and took her bearing. Nobody had looked up from their shopping to notice a young witch materialise out of thin air, not in Britain's only all-wizard village. Tonks pointed herself in the right direction and began to run.

She kept running all the way down the road that connected Hogsmeade to the school of Hogwarts. Tonks knew the way very well from her own years at the school, and besides, it was the only real road there was. She ran with all the strength she had, and did not slow down even to rest.

She was dizzy and out of breath when at last she reached the towering gates of Hogwarts. They were locked and barred, as they always were in these times of war. And there was more than iron poles between her and the Hogwarts grounds. Tonks could almost see the thick magical barriers that completely entombed the school, warding off all intruders.

She approached the iron gate. Set into the centre of the right-hand gate was what looked like a plain oval mirror, just large enough for a person to look at their face if they bent down a bit. Tonks looked into the mirror and said, very clearly, "permission to enter Hogwarts castle."

After a moment, her reflection became smoky, and silvery words floated across the grey glass, _"identity and purpose?"_

"Nymphadora Tonks, auror-in-training, urgent business with Headmaster Dumbledore," said Tonks, tugging at the badge on her shoulder so that it was visible in the mirror. It was a badge that aurors wore for formality's sake when they did not need to keep their profession a secret. Tonks' badge was a plain gold, signifying that she had only partially completed her training as an auror. Once she had finished the training, she would be given a silver and blue badge that showed her to be an official dark-wizard catcher.

For a few moments, Tonks waited, then the recorded words replied, "_permission to enter withheld. Please contact Headmaster via owl post or other method."_

"No!" Tonks resisted the urge to bring her fist down and smash the mirror, "this is an emergency! I need to get in! I'm…I'm…" and suddenly she thought of Lupin, and what he had introduced her to only a few weeks before – the mysterious Order of the Phoenix. Tonks had attended only one gathering of the members, and not one that had discussed any of the Order's secrets, but they had shown her how they contacted each other when in trouble.

Well, surely an Order member would be allowed in? It was worth a try. Tonks pulled out her wand and pointed it at the mirror, and muttered, _"expecto patronum,"_ under her breath. A moment later, a white shining something emerged from her wand tip and enveloped the troublesome mirror. It seemed to sink into the reflective surface and vanish.

Tonks waited, holding her breath, and then heard a click. There was a screech as bars were drawn back, the air cleared a little as the wards opened, and then the gates swung forwards to admit her. Tonks did not wait for them to finish opening. She bolted through the gap and began running once more.

When she reached the castle, she pushed open the heavy wooden doors and slid through into the entrance hall. Coming back to Hogwarts was like coming home, but she did not spare a moment to appreciate the familiarity of the castle. She sprinted through the halls, passing students who glanced at her with curious looks on their faces. Some made out the auror badge on her shoulder and stepped back hurriedly.

Tonks forced herself to slow her mad race. She had to find Harry, yes, but she wasn't going to do it by running around like a headless chicken. He could be anywhere in the school. She would probably have to find a professor – Lupin would know where Harry was, for sure – before she could give anyone her warning.

_But Moody will be here soon!_ She thought wildly, _I have to find him!_ And as she cast her eyes around, she saw Ginny Weasley standing at the bottom of a staircase nearby.

"Ginny!" Tonks dashed over. Ginny recognised her and her eyes widened. She knew Tonks well, of course, but the young girl had always been shy around Charlie's vivacious multi-coloured friend. Tonks felt that she had always intimidated Ginny a little, "I need to find Professor Lupin. I'm looking for a boy called Harry Potter. I think he's been living at the school. Do you know where either of them could be?" this came out in such a rush Tonks wondered if poor Ginny had understood a word.

Ginny, still looking dumbstruck, shook her head, but said softly, "there might be some Professors in the Great Hall. I'm just coming there from lunch."

"The Great Hall!" Tonks nearly slapped herself, "of course. Thank you, Ginny! Thank you!" and she took off again, weaving around some Ravenclaw third-years and nearly colliding with a young Gryffindor who had been looking through a camera.

She reached the Great Hall and ran through, but to her disappointment, the long table where the staff usually sat for meals was empty. Tonks was about to turn and leave when she caught a glimpse of red hair and saw one of Charlie's brothers – Ron, by the look of it – sitting at the far end of one of the middle tables. She didn't have time to say hello, and she would have left then, but her auror training in observation noticed curiously that while everyone else in the hall had plates of food in front of them, Ron and his two friends were simply sitting and talking.

And then the black-haired boy turned his head a little as Ron leaned forward to listen to him, and Tonks felt her heart leap in his chest. It was Harry. Though Tonks had not seen him in the flesh for over a year now, she recognised those distinctive round glasses and the pale, staunch face.

She sprinted down the hall. Ron and his friends were deep in conversation. They did not notice Tonks until she gave a half-leap and slid to a halt sitting wrong-way round on the bench next to Harry.

All three children looked up. Ron said, "Tonks!" in a very shocked voice. The bushy-haired girl next to him blinked in bemusement. Harry's face remained emotionless. He looked as if he had just received a death sentence, and nothing could make his day any worse.

Tonks would have to give him some more bad news, "wotcher, Harry," she said, panting a little, "I hope you're ready to leave. You have get out of here right now. Minister Moody is coming to the school with some dementors. They're going to kill you," she, of course, knew that dementors would not kill Harry, but she felt that her news would have rather more weight if she mentioned death.

Harry, however, did not even blink, "I know," he said dully.

Tonks was taken aback. She quickly recovered and grabbed his shoulder, "Harry, you've got to come with me! You're not safe here. Hasn't Sirius told you? Dumbledore tried to kill you when you were four years old. Who knows what he's planning now?"

"So you know too," said Harry, "Sirius told everyone except for me, it seems."

Tonks had never heard anyone so lethargic. She wanted shake Harry, to snap him out of this trance that seemed to have overcome him. She had come all this way to save his life and he didn't even seem to care!

"Harry!" Tonks said furiously, "what's _wrong_ with you?"

His face hardened in an instant, "what's _wrong_ with me?" he hissed, his hand resting on the table balled into a fist, "Dumbledore has told me everything. I'm only worth something as I am. I'm a _vessel_. A _weapon_. It would be _better_ for everyone if I was dead. How do you think that feels, knowing that?"

Tonks stared at him. Sirius had told her what Harry was, when they had met in France a year ago, though he had been very reluctant. But she had never understood why Sirius refused to tell his godson the truth. Now, looking at the bitterness in Harry's face, she saw why. Sirius could not have faced that bitterness, not in the boy he loved.

"Sirius," said Tonks, her hand slipping from Harry's shoulder, "does not judge your worth by what you carry. Not at all. You should know that."

Harry glowered at her. He looked as if he wanted to hit her. Then his mask broke and he looked like a small boy once more, tired and upset. He swayed, and Tonks (feeling very surprised at herself) caught him before he slid off the seat and wrapped her arms around him. She'd never hugged a child before. She had never thought of herself as the maternal type. She was an auror, and aurors did not have families or babies. It was too dangerous.

"I don't know what to do," said Harry, his voice muffled a little. He choked back a sob, "it isn't right for me to live. I could save so many people by dying. But I don't want to."

"Then don't," said Tonks.

"Oh, you are unbelievable!" said Ron loudly, but he was not talking to Harry. He was looking over Tonks' shoulder. Percy Weasley was coming down the aisle between the tables, his eyes locked on the small group at the end. Harry and Tonks pulled apart, "will you stop interrupting private moments?" Ron yelled at his brother.

Percy paused when he saw Tonks, but then barrelled forward, "I'm looking for someone called Harry."

"That's me," said Harry quietly, trying to wipe his eyes before anyone saw his tears.

"What do you want?" said Ron. He and Hermione clambered under the table and popped up on the other side, to stand next to Harry.

Percy's gaze swung onto Ron, "Professor Sinestra had just been found dead in her office," he said, and his voice shook a little, "and someone broke into Gryffindor tower. They attacked some of the students – but no serious injuries, thank God. Professor Dumbledore sent me here. He says I have to bring Harry to safety at once."

"That's what I tried to tell him," said Tonks, "Minister Moody's coming to get him."

Percy shook his head, "no. There are others already in the castle. Dumbledore and the rest of the Professors were preparing for battle."

"F-for battle?" Hermione squeaked.

"Against who?" Tonks shot to her feet and her wand was in her hand.

Then there was an almighty bang as the doors of the great hall were thrown open. From all around, screams rose as the children nearest the door scrambled away from it. Jets of red light shot across the room, and one struck Tonks squarely in the back as she tried to spin around. Stunned, she fell forward and Ron and Harry caught her before she split her head on the wooden table.

"Run," Percy grabbed Harry's shoulder, "run, now, all of you!"

A woman's voice, magically amplified, echoed around the hall, a rich, cold voice like iced red wine, "_NOBODY MOVE AN INCH!_" it commanded, as dark-robed figures skated down the hall, wands raised. More black-clad adults were barring the door. Some of the students raised their wands, but most cowered against the benches. Only a few among them were older than second year.

"They're Death Eaters," said Percy, with total disbelief in his voice. He sounded more surprised than he did frightened, as if he could not accept that Death Eaters could ever get into Hogwarts.

"Harry, go!" Hermione and Ron were standing next to Percy, blocking Harry from view. Tonks lay prone on the bench, knocked out cold. A jet of green light whizzed past them and struck the wall across the other side of the hall. Something else skimmed past Percy's arm, singeing his robes.

"There's nowhere to go," said Harry, drawing his wand.

The doors which the Death Eaters had barred were suddenly blasted open once more, and peering past Percy, Harry caught a glimpse of blue and silver badges. Aurors, at least a dozen of them, were pursuing the Death Eaters into the great hall, wands ablaze. The Death Eaters were running desperately now, knowing they were cornered. Two had sped right to the end of the hall and were trying to open the door behind the teacher's table, but it was locked and shut tight, and even their magic could not seem to budge it.

Three Death Eaters swooped towards Percy, who shot an ineffectual, "_expelliarmus,"_ at them before he was pushed roughly aside. Hermione and Ron stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Harry, but neither of them had drawn their wands. The lead Death Eater tore back her hood, and Harry saw that it was a woman, heavy-lidded and with a mass of dark hair spilling from beneath her cloak.

The woman grabbed Hermione's arm and leapt up onto the table, dragging the girl up with her. Hermione began to scream, but she stopped when the woman jabbed her wand into the underside of her chin.

Then the woman spoke, and it was the cold-wine voice again, _"TO ME, COMRADES!"_ she bellowed.

Harry, crouched down next to Tonks, looked around and saw to his horror that the other Death Eaters were converging on the spot where he cowered. They were herding the terrified students in front of them, wands pointed not at the aurors, but at the children. He realised they were taking hostages. Percy was getting to his feet, clutching his head, but another Death Eater slammed his fist into the prefect's jaw and he dropped again.

From the other end of the hall came a new command. "_Forward, aurors_!" cried the cracked voice of a man who stood at the forefront of the blue-clad ministry officials. Harry recognised the man from the newspaper, though with his scars he was not hard to pick: it was Minister Moody.

Then another voice, as deep and full as a roaring river, rose above all the noise, "STOP, ALL OF YOU!" and Harry saw professor Dumbledore, taller than any of the aurors, standing beside Moody with his arms raised. Moody turned to say something to Dumbledore, but Dumbledore cut him off, "I will not have my students' blood spilled in this hall!"

The aurors turned to looked at the woman standing on the table, still holding the wand to Hermione's throat. She was yelling, _"DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER, YOU MINISTRY PIGS, OR WE WILL BEGIN KILLING THE CHILDREN!"_ Hermione gave a frightened sob.

Harry felt fury boil up in him. "Let her go!" Ron yelled at the woman, climbing over Tonks to reach Hermione.

Harry stood up to follow him, raising his wand, trying to think of a curse that would stun the woman without hurting Hermione, but a hand grabbed his wrist in a grip that was like iron. Harry was spun around and slammed onto the table, his head clunking on the wood so hard he heard the sound ring in his ears. A hand locked over his throat, half-choking him. He looked into the wide eyes of a grinning Death Eater, who was crowing, "_I got him! Bellatrix, I got the boy! He's here!_"

Harry bared his teeth and flailed like a fish out of water, but the Death Eater was as strong as a bull elephant. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron fall backwards onto the cold stone floor of the hall. The woman had kicked him off the table. The Death Eaters were arranged in a semi-circle now, standing between the children and the aurors, who were still arrayed in the distant doorway, wands raised.

Quiet fell. The only sounds were the exhausted breathing of Death Eaters and aurors alike, and the soft weeping of some of the captive children. Ron was sitting up with his hands over his face, blood pouring from his nose. The Death-Eater called Bellatrix had kicked him in the face when he had tried to reach Hermione.

Harry wriggled again, but he was helpless in the iron grip of the man holding him. He tried to point his wand towards the Death Eater, but the man squeezed Harry's wrist tighter and bent his arm into Harry thought he was going to break his bones. With a cry of pain, he released his wand, and it rolled across the table.

Hermione, however, was not yet beaten. She was slowly reaching her free hand into her pocket, where her wand was. "Oh, no you don't," Bellatrix hissed, and a few sparks burst out of her wand tip, burning the nape of Hermione's neck. Hermione did not make a sound, but from then on she kept her hands where Bellatrix could see them.

Now the dark-haired woman straightened, digging the wand deeper into Hermione's throat, "For every step you take towards us, we will kill a child!" she yelled at the aurors. Harry could see the wizards at the end of the hall seething, and Minister Moody raised his wand again, but Dumbledore put his hand out to stop him. The Headmaster's face was placid.

"Do not be so hasty, Bellatrix," said Dumbledore, and Bellatrix looked surprised to hear her name from his lips, "there is no way out of this hall. You are trapped."

"Not for long!" Bellatrix yelled, and she glanced down at the Death Eater who had pinned Harry on his back on the table. A triumphant grin spread across her face. She turned back to Dumbledore, "we have the Potter boy, Dumbledore! We have your students! If you want them to live, you'll negotiate with us!"

Dumbledore close his eyes for a moment. He looked as if he was taking a very deep breath.

"Very well," he said, and his voice carried across the hall, "we will negotiate."

-------------------------------------------------

TBC

Somebody. Kill. Bellatrix. Lestrange.

Actually, I think I'm starting to like her. She's so mad and cruel, I just know I will enjoy writing her.


	20. Hostage Situation

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

---------------------------------------------

"Disable the anti-apparating wards, old man."

"You know I can't do that, Bellatrix."

"You better not, Dumbledore, or you'll have more to worry about than Death Eater scum!"

Bellatrix, Dumbledore and Moody stood a few feet away from each other, just inside the entrance to the great hall, the air between them electric with stress. The rest of the Death Eaters had settled themselves at the far end of the hall, on the raised platform where the professors ate at meal-times. They had turned the long dining table onto its side, to use as a barrier against attack. Behind the wall formed by the overturned table, the Death Eaters waited, wands at the ready, surrounding the hostage children. Dumbledore had ordered the aurors to leave the room so that Bellatrix could approach to talk with them. Only Moody and one other auror, who was standing ready to summon the others in a moment, remained in the hall.

"Very well," said Bellatrix. She was nearly a head shorter than Dumbledore, but she stood before him with all the self-assurance of someone twice her height, "then we will kill one of your students every hour until you remove the wards and allow us to disapparate."

Dumbledore did not flinch at her words, "this is madness, Bellatrix. You must know that the Minister will not allow you to escape this castle with your lives, let alone taking Harry or any hostages will you. But if you cooperate, if you would only return my children to me, then I would be able to protect you long enough for you to leave unscathed."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Moody growled, rounding on Dumbledore, "don't you go offering them asylum now, Dumbledore! I want every one of them in jail cells by nightfall!"

"Alastor, this is not the time for us to turn on one another," Dumbledore said firmly, "if you would kindly cease undermining my negotiations, then we might actually come to some result."

"Don't you speak to me like that," Moody thumped his stick on the stone floor, "you've been too complaisant for too long, Dumbledore. Hogwarts would have been a smoking ruin years ago if it wasn't for the support you get from the Ministry."

Bellatrix began to laugh, a cold and cruel giggle, "like children fighting over a trinket," she sneered, "raise the wards, Dumbledore, then we release the hostages. I will not ask you again."

She turned and began to stride back down the hall to where the Death Eaters under her command were waiting. Dumbledore paused, then said, "wait."

Bellatrix turned, a sickly smile on her face, "yes, old man?"

"I will raise the wards," said Dumbledore, "and allow you and your men to leave the castle by apparation. But _only_ once you have released every one of my students."

"Dumbledore…!" growled Moody, but the headmaster silenced him with a sharp glance.

"Do you swear to that?" Bellatrix asked coldly.

"I will swear," said Dumbledore. Bellatrix approached him again. She was holding a wand in each hand. Now she transferred them both to her left hand and raised her right.

"Would you swear the Unbreakable Vow?" Bellatrix asked quietly.

Dumbledore considered her thin, white hand appreciatively. Then he said, "I would."

"Very well," said Bellatrix, and she glanced at Moody, "lend us a wand, auror."

"Dumbledore," Moody snarled, "I won't participate in this."

"You will, Alastor, if you wish to keep me as an ally in this war," said Dumbledore, and his voice was so grim at Moody seemed to stagger a little under it. Then he limped forwards and raised his wand. Dumbledore clasped Bellatrix's hand and Moody touched his wand-tip to their linked fingers.

"Do you swear, by your own life, to raise the wards of this hall and allow myself and my comrades to disapparate to safety after we have released your students?" Bellatrix asked.

"Yes," said Dumbledore heavily. A sharp, glittering tongue of flame shot out of Moody's wand and linked the two hands, "and do you swear to release all of my students without harming them?" the headmaster said in a commanding voice.

"Yes," said Bellatrix, and another tongue of flame streamed out and wrapped around their entwined hands. A moment later, both flames faded away like leaves scattered in the wind. Bellatrix released Dumbledore's grip, and he saw her rub her hand on her robes, as if she had touched something foul and unclean.

The black-robed witch paused for a moment, gathering herself, then gave Dumbledore a mocking bow, "it is done. I will speak with my men. Once you see the students leave our custody and walk towards you, you must raise the wards."

Dumbledore did not speak, but he nodded stiffly, his hands clasped in front of him like a man in mourning.

---------------------------------------------

At the other end of the hall, the Hogwarts students sat huddled together, frightened into silence by the hooded Death Eaters that were arrayed around them, wands held at the ready. Several of them were crying, or clinging to their friends with their faces so white they looked like corpses. Percy Weasley was walking among them, trying to calm the most distressed first-years and reassure the stammered questions of the students.

Harry sat a little apart from the other children, with Ron and Hermione beside him, both looking as if they might be sick at any moment. He knew that three Death Eaters had their wands pointed at his back, ready to stun him if he tried to escape, but he was determinedly ignoring them. He watched Percy Weasley stroking the shoulder of a blonde first-year named Luna, who was telling him in an agitated voice that Death Eaters could turn you to stone if you looked them in the eye.

He was surprised by Percy's calmness, even though he knew the Prefect must be scared stiff. When the Death Eaters had first surrounded them and herded them up the staff table, Percy had quickly taken charge of the panicky children. When some of the second-years had pulled out their wands, Percy had ordered them not to attack the Death Eaters. And when the black-clad wizards had begun disarming the children, Percy had actually helped them, taking the children's wands with stern words for those who resisted.

Ron had yelled at Percy when his brother had demanded he hand over his wand, but Harry understood, now, where Percy was coming from. It was not cowardice or selfishness that was making Percy cooperate with the Death Eaters – it was desperate concern for the children's safety. Percy knew, very well, that if any of the students had resisted the Death Eaters, they would have been killed without mercy. None of them stood even the faintest chance of fighting the dark wizards. There were only about fifteen students, none of them except for Percy older than third-year, and at least a dozen masked wizards, all of whom knew far more cruel and powerful spells and were practised in magical warfare.

When the Death Eaters had seen Tonks, lying stunned on the bench, Bellatrix had glimpsed the auror's badge on her shoulder and ordered her killed. But Percy had intervened, suggesting to Bellatrix that Tonks was a good hostage to hold against Minister Moody, who (he claimed) would be more concerned about one of his "favourite" students than the children from Hogwarts. One of the Death Eaters had struck Percy around the head for daring to speak to Bellatrix. But Bellatrix, to Harry's great relief, had seemed to decide this was good advice, and told the Death Eaters to spare Tonks.

Now the revived auror-in-training was sitting a little way away, her hands bound and a sour expression on her face. She looked flushed and irate. Bellatrix had taken Tonks' wand with a scornful smirk, and slapped Tonks sharply when she had resisted. Apparently, the dark witch could wield two wands, since she now carried Tonks' in her left hand.

The Death Eater who had first grabbed Harry was sitting a little way away, spinning Harry's wand between his fingers.

"Get your stinking hands off it," Harry muttered to himself as the Death Eater threw Harry's wand in the air and caught it casually. Hermione put her hand on Harry's arm.

"Don't do anything rash," she pleaded quietly. She was shaking and her face was white, "let Dumbledore handle things. He won't let us down."

Ron had his head tipped back, still trying to stem his bleeding nose. Bellatrix's kick had not broken it, but a huge purple bruise was swelling between his eyes. He glared at his brother as Percy came and squatted down beside Tonks. The nearest Death Eater watched them suspiciously, but all the dark-robed wizards seemed reluctant to act while Bellatrix was still at the other end of the hall, talking to Dumbledore and Moody. Besides, Percy had already built up their trust in him by keeping the children quiet and cooperating with their orders.

"What are you doing here?" Percy said quietly to Tonks, "the rest of the aurors didn't show up until long after you. Were you coming against orders?"

Tonks did not answer. She still looked too incensed to make a sensible reply.

"Don't you dare try and pull anything funny," Percy continued, "I won't let these children get hurt."

"You think they won't kill us if you do as they say?" Tonks snapped, "Percy, you're being a fool. They're going to slaughter us anyway."

"Not so long as they can still use us to bargain with Dumbledore," Percy replied. Harry was listening intently, and he could hear the determination in Percy's voice, "just don't try to play the hero, Tonks, or I swear, I will kill you myself."

Tonks bared her teeth at him, "you're a coward, Percy."

"You're a maniac," Percy hissed back, "you don't care about anything except your own glorious death. Ever since you wanted to be an auror you've been like that. Well, I'm not going to let you take these kids with you."

"You should have been a Slytherin," Tonks said bitterly. But Harry, looking at the fear Percy was barely constraining, did not agree.

"You should have been dead," Percy replied, "long ago."

He stood up and turned back to the children, just as a ripple ran around the Death Eaters. Bellatrix was returning, heading up the hall towards then. Her black cloak flowed out behind her like a solid shadow. She hoisted herself over the upturned table, shot a twisted smile at Harry that made a shiver run down his spine, then turned to the Death Eaters, who were waiting eagerly for her news.

"We're releasing the hostages," she said, "Dumbledore has sworn to raise the anti-apparating wards."

"You can't trust him!" one man next to her said savagely.

"He has sworn by his life, Radolphus," Bellatrix said, "you think I cannot judge which oaths to trust and which to discard?" she glanced over her shoulder at Dumbledore and Moody, who were now deep in conversation at the other end of the hall, "get the children moving. We will not escort them, they will walk the hall themselves."

Percy Weasley had been listening as she spoke, and Harry saw the relief break across his face. At once, he went to the hostage children and urged them to their feet, encouraging them with cheering words. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood up as well. Harry wanted to ask for his wand back. That wand had been his birthday present from Sirius. But he did not think the Death Eaters would return it to him, and he supposed losing it was better than losing his life.

Percy went over to Tonks, who was having difficulty with her bound hands, and helped her up. But suddenly Bellatrix had a wand pointed at Tonks' neck.

"Uh-uh," the heavy-lidded woman said softly, "not her. The deal was for the students only."

"No," Percy stepped in front of Tonks, "you have to let all the hostages go."

"You are too insolent, boy."

Bellatrix's wand jerked forward and struck him in the chest. Percy doubled over and fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. Ron gave a muffled yell but Hermione grabbed him before he could attack Bellatrix. After a moment, Percy raised his head, gasping for breath, and slowly got to his feet. Whatever spell Bellatrix had cast, it had caused him a lot of pain but not much damage.

"Go," said Bellatrix, jerking her wand at the frightened children standing in a ground not far away, "before I change my mind."

Percy, still clutching his chest, glanced once at Tonks. She was standing with two burly Death Eaters on either side of her, and her hair was a dull pastel blue. She shook her head, "go, Percy."

Percy adjusted his glasses and went towards the children, "come on, first years at the front, walk quickly, but don't run," he said in a bossy tone. But his voice was strained, and it cracked at the end as if he was holding back a dry sob. He looked over his shoulder, "come on, Ron, don't dally."

Ron, Hermione and Harry walked past Bellatrix to where Percy was waiting, directing the children around the side of the table, around the silent Death Eaters. Harry did not see Bellatrix give a quick nod to the men behind him. All he felt was a sudden, vice-like grip above his elbows. He yelled in surprise, and Hermione and Ron both spun around and saw him struggling in the arms of a large, blonde Death Eater.

"_Let him go!_" Hermione shrieked, grabbing Harry's hands and trying to pull him free. Harry clutched her wrists, feeling panic rise in him. Ron raised his fists and another trickle of blood streamed out of his nose. This couldn't be happening, when they were so close to safety!

"Get back," said Bellatrix, striding forward. She was smiling again, "students only, remember? The boy stays with us."

"He is a student!" Ron shouted.

"Let him go, you bitch!" Hermione snarled.

Bellatrix threw back her head and laughed, "watch your mouth, girl, or you'll see what a bitch I can be. We know the boy is not a student of Hogwarts. We do not have to release him. Now go before I kill you both."

"Ron," Percy had come back and grabbed his brother's shoulder, "please, Ron, we've got to go now or never."

"No!"

But Harry, seeing the other Death Eaters close in, waiting for Bellatrix's word, knew then that Ron and Hermione would die if they tried to protect him. He slowly let of Hermione's hands. She clung to him anyway, until one of the Death Eaters pulled her away. Percy grabbed both of them and pushed them towards the rest of the children.

Harry watched the group of stumbling students file out around the table and down the hall. Ron and Hermione did not even look where they were going. Their eyes remained locked to his the entire way.

--------------------------------------------

"No," said Dumbledore, as he and Moody watched the group of students hurry down the length of the hall towards the great double doors, Percy Weasley walking at the back to help any stragglers. Harry was not among the freed students. The Minister saw this as well.

"Your bargaining went nowhere," Moody hissed, leaning on his staff, "she hasn't released Potter. We're stuck where we started, Dumbledore – expect that now you've got to raise the wards. All I can hope is that that Lestrange cow drops dead for breaking the Vow."

"No," Dumbledore shook his head, and his voice was strangely hoarse, "she hasn't broken it. She swore to release all my students. But I ripped up Harry's letter," Dumbledore took a breath, "he was never invited to Hogwarts. No."

"What?" Moody turned to Dumbledore, fury twisting his already ugly features, "what have you done?"

Bellatrix's voice, magnified once more, echoed down the hall, "_my half of the Vow complete, Dumbledore! Raise the wards!"_

Moody was going purple with rage now, but Dumbledore raised his wand and pointed it at his own throat, muttering "_sonorus._"

The hostages who had reached them put their hands over their ears to muffle Dumbledore's amplified words as he called back to Bellatrix, "_not until you release Mr Potter_."

"_That wasn't the bargain, muggle-lover!_" there was definitely a note of glee in Bellatrix's voice, "_but _you_ swore to raise the wards once you had the children!"_

"_No, Bellatrix,"_ Dumbledore replied, "_I swore to raise the wards _after_ you released the children. But you did not specify how long after. So we have returned to a stalemate_. _Two can cheat a bargain, Bellatrix. You should well know that._"

Bellatrix did not reply, but Percy Weasley fancied he could hear her snarl of fury from where he stood. He sent the children through the doors of the Great Hall to safety, pushing Ron when his brother refused to leave, then hurried up to the headmaster, "Professor Dumbledore," he said, nearly stumbling on his robes. Now that his ordeal was over, he felt weak and dizzy, "Professor, they've still got one hostage."

"They will not hurt Harry," Dumbledore said calmly.

"No, one other," Percy explained, "Nymphadora Tonks."

Moody and Dumbledore's heads both swung around to look at Percy, who felt rather as if he had been suddenly pinned down by the beam of a spotlight.

"That second-year auror-in-training?" Moody frowned, "what? What's she doing here?"

"I don't know," Percy cringed under Moody's furious glare, "she was talking to Harry when I first arrived. She was stunned by the Death Eaters."

"She came to warn him," the Minister shook his head, "she must have been in contact with him before now. Foolish girl! As if we didn't have enough problems as it is," his magical eye rolled crazily in its socket, "well, I'll be damned if I leave yet another young auror in the hands of Death Eaters."

Dumbledore thanked Percy and then headed out of the hall, striding so quickly Percy nearly had to run to keep up.

Moody called after him, "where the hell do you think you're going, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore looked over his shoulder to reply, "to let Mrs Lestrange stew for a while. Leave a pair of aurors to watch them, but you won't need more than that. Bellatrix will not hurt her only hostages, not yet. We have been granted some time, Alastor, and we must use it."

-----------------------------------------------

TBC

A/N: I think I am actually twitching from distaste. This chapter is a mess. Ah, well, at least Bellatrix was fun.


	21. Grim Welcome

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

-----------------------------------------------

Dumbledore had refused to raise the wards. As he strode out of the hall, the Death Eaters surrounding Bellatrix Lestrange moved back a little from the Dark witch, who was bent over the overturned table, gripping the wood so hard her that knuckles were white. She was trembling, not with fear, but with an expression of such overwhelming fury on her face that she looked as if she might curse the next person to speak to her. Dumbledore had tricked her – she, Bellatrix Lestrange, had _allowed_ herself to be tricked. It was impossible.

Several moments of silence followed, and at last, Bellatrix straightened up, seeming to gain some measure of control, and turned to the Death Eaters under her command.

"Have you made any progress there?" she asked, jerking her head at the door behind the staff table.

"No, Bellatrix…" one Death Eater said cautiously, "there are very strong magical locks…"

"Then keep working!" Bellatrix cut him off sharply. "Get Dobbin to help you, he knows locks…"

"Dobbin's dead, Bellatrix," said the man Harry recognised as Rodolphus, "the Aurors got him before we reached the hall."

Bellatrix's face twisted angrily for a moment, but then she composed herself once more, "Mulciber." Another black-robed man stepped forward, and Bellatrix pointed at the two Aurors standing at the door to the Great Hall. Minister Moody had left as well, but these two Aurors were keeping an eye on the situation inside the hall."You specialise in the Imperius curse. Can you hit one of those pigs with it from this distance?"

Mulciber gauged the distance for a moment before he spoke, "I can try, Bella, but it's not very likely. I can't get them both at once, so even if I managed to take one under control, the other might realise and stun his companion before I could do anything…"

"Shut up and try," she hissed, jerking the wand in her right hand at Mulciber, who hesitantly knelt behind the barrier and began positioning his wand as if looking down the sight of a rifle.

Bellatrix looked up at the long windows above them, then beckoned to two more Death Eaters, "Travers, Nott, start looking for a way to reach those windows."

"They'll be made of unbreakable glass," Rodolphus told her.

"Nothing is unbreakable," Bellatrix sneered. "As I have proved in the past," she glanced at Tonks and gave her a twisted smile. "We'll want to bait the Aurors into attacking too soon. If the Minister hears you screaming, will he come running?" she pondered aloud, "I think we should find out," she continued, advancing menacingly towards Tonks and raising the young Auror's wand.

Before he could stop himself, Harry found he was on his feet and standing between Tonks and Bellatrix. "You leave her alone," he said breathlessly.

"Get back, boy," Bellatrix said coldly. The Death Eaters who had been keeping their eyes on Harry lumbered forwards, but they seemed oddly wary of touching him.

"No," Harry shot back, repressing his panic. The last time someone he didn't like had pointed a wand straight at him, it had been the Dark Lord standing in front of him, and he had been four years old. But he had to protect Tonks, and this thought sent a thrill of daring running through him, mixed with fear. "Don't you hurt her," he growled, raising his fists.

"Would you prefer I hurt you instead?" Bellatrix said, stepping forward and pressing her wand to Harry's throat. "Don't tempt me. I can make you feel such pain, boy, you won't remember your name. Do you think I won't break you?"

"You wouldn't dare," Harry said. "You can't hurt me," he insisted, suddenly feeling a shiver run through him. "_He_ needs me, and you know it."

"Oh, I can't _kill_ you," Bellatrix corrected, the corner of her lips twitching in a sneer, "but I can hurt you as much as I want. And I will…" she raised her wand a little and touched the gruesome scars around Harry's right eye, "…or has somebody already done that for me? It doesn't look like my Sirius has been taking very good care of you, does it?"

Harry felt his heart give a tentative leap of anticipation. If the Death Eaters didn't know he had lycanthropy, then even if they took him away, he might have a chance to escape next full moon. But then he gut sank as Bellatrix continued to speak.

"But of course," she whispered, "those scars are from a werewolf. I remember now. No wonder the Ministry wants you dead, the way you are. I'm surprised Sirius didn't drown you _himself_, like a rabid dog. He was always one for the greater good."

"Sirius would never hurt me," said Harry hissing, his heart thudding in his chest.

"Are you so sure?" Bellatrix asked, and her voice dropped in a matching, low hiss. "How much do you know about my cousin, boy? Not much, I'll warrant. He was an Auror himself, remember? I fought him once, with his brother Regulus beside me. He would have killed both of us…his own flesh and blood…"

"He hated you," spat Harry. He wanted to hit Bellatrix, tear at her with his bare hands, but the wand was still at his throat, and he forced himself to stay still. "But not me. He's coming for me, you know," he said, feeling as if a balloon of hope was inflating inside him, "he won't rest until he finds me. He's going to kill you."

Bellatrix laughed, threw back her head and laughed in that chilling voice like wine. The laugh faded into a giggle. "You poor, deluded child. My cousin is a weak and broken wizard. The only people left who care whether you live, or die, are the Minister for Magic and my Master." She shook her heavy, dark hair away from her face and let the wand fall from his throat. Sneering at him, she turned away.

"You're wrong," Harry shouted at her back. "Sirius will be here. I know he will!"

Bellatrix tossed him a callous look over her shoulder, but paid him no more heed. Harry glared at her back for a moment as she began speaking in low tones to the other Death Eaters, then turned and dashed to Tonks' side. Two Death Eaters had picked Tonks up and then carelessly cast her to one side, and she was looking furious and humiliated,.

"Thanks, Harry," she said quietly, "I don't know what she was going to do to me…"

"She's forgotten about you already. Short attention span, see?" Harry tried to smile, but all that he managed was a weak sort of grimace.

Tonks nodded, and straightened her back, "Look, Harry… don't…don't be too hopeful about us…" she said softly, glancing at the busy Death Eaters surrounding them, "I don't know if we're can get out of this, okay? If it comes to it, you've got to leave me behind." She gulped. "Percy's right. All that's mattered to me since I started training as an Auror is dying. But _not you_, all right? You've got to take the first chance you get, and not think about me."

"Sirius will come," Harry repeated, interrupting her before she could say anything else. Did she even imagine he would leave her here to _die?_

Tonks shook her head slowly, her voice shaking a little, "I don't know, Harry …"

"You two, enough conversation," one of the Death Eaters sneered, stepping in to pull Tonks and Harry roughly apart.

Harry knew by the look of despair of Tonks' face that she did not believe him about Sirius. No one believed him. He was alone in his conviction.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and thought of his Godfather's grinning face. He knew that Sirius was coming for him. He _had_ to come. That was who he was.

------------------------------------------------

Dumbledore walked past the large group of Aurors who were sitting or standing around the door to the Great Hall, their faces stern and tense. They were waiting for orders from Moody, and by the frustrated glances they shot at the headmaster as he breezed through their ranks, they were not happy to be stuck outside the hall, where they could not participate in the action. Dumbledore spoke no word to them. He had nothing to say to them, the people who would have let his students – his _children_ – die, just to get to the Death Eaters. He turned a corner and they were lost from sight.

He continued on to the marble staircase where his staff were waiting for him. The students who had been held hostage filled the hallway, many of them sobbing or hysterical from relief. Minerva McGonagall and Hagrid were doing their best to comfort them and send them back to their dormitories. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, Dumbledore noticed curiously, were furiously shouting at McGonagall as if she had unfairly punished them for something. Dumbledore caught only the words, "…we just want to know he's safe…!"

In the end it was clear the children were still too panicky to go anywhere by themselves. Hagrid stood behind them and began to herd them up the stairs towards the hospital wing, looking very much like a man trying to assemble a flock of distressed sheep.

Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick and Minerva were by Dumbledore's side as soon as they saw him. Sprout looked teary-eyed and her voice shook as she said, "Is it done, Albus? Have you apprehended those beasts that killed Sabyne Sinistra?" her voice rose at the end of the sentence as if she was holding back a shriek.

"Not yet, Pomona," said Dumbledore. "But we will, just be patient. Now I will ask you to go and check on Ravenclaw tower, before you return to your own common room. You must stay there with the students, keep them calm. Filius…"

"Yes, Headmaster?" Flitwick squeaked.

"What is the damage to the Wards around Gryffindor tower?"

Flitwick shook his head. "I don't know how they managed it, Albus, but they've ripped their way in like nothing I'd believe. Remus is guarding the students left in there. Don't worry, though, there's no charms that I can't fix," he added hastily. "A few hours is all I need."

"Good. Go at once, and make sure those inside are safe and well. Tell Remus he may return to me," Dumbledore said. Sprout and Flitwick nodded to him and hurried away. Dumbledore turned to McGonagall.

"Minerva," he said softly, "we have very little time. I have twisted the Unbreakable Vow, but it will still be the death of me if I do not raise the anti-Apparating wards eventually," McGonagall took a shocked breath but did not interrupt the Headmaster, "go and tell the Minister we have an hour at the most to clear the hall, and then I _must_ raise the wards, or die."

"Headmaster, those wards are ancient," McGonagall said faintly, raising her hand as if she wanted to stop him. "How can you possibly…?"

"Have some faith in my ability, Minerva," Dumbledore smiled. "Now, once you have warned Alastor of our time limitation, go to the back door of the Great Hall, the one behind the dais, and make sure the locks are still holding up. Tell the Minister I will be with him in a moment."

Minerva turned, then looked back at the headmaster. She spoke tentatively, as if she did not want to know the answer. "Albus…if the Death Eaters are not gone from the Hall…when your time is up, _will_ you raise the wards? Allow them to leave with Potter and Nymphadora? If you don't, you will die, but if you do, they may…" she did not finish her sentence. What would the Death Eaters do if they left the castle, taking Harry with them, and armed with the knowledge that Hogwarts was now completely open to attack?

Dumbledore's face grew cold. "We shall have to hope it will not come to that, Minerva. I believe that even when I remove the wards, I will be able to replace them just as easily. It will simply take more time. Go, now. I can hear Remus returning."

"Good luck," McGonagall breathed, and then she slipped away down the hall. Dumbledore was watching the staircase as Remus Lupin appeared at the top. It had been easy to hear his approach because he was running so fast he was taking the steps three at a time.

"Albus!" he shouted, sliding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. His hair was falling over his face and his hands were shaking, "Albus, Filius said they didn't release Harry," Lupin gasped for breath. "Please tell me he was mistaken!"

"I'm sorry, Remus," said Dumbledore heavily, "I allowed Bellatrix to catch me out. We still have time to rescue Harry, but it may take a little longer."

"Oh, God," Lupin shook his head, his voice ragged with distress, "why didn't he go to Gryffindor tower like you said? What was he doing in the hall at all?" Lupin swayed a little, and Dumbledore grabbed his arm to stop him toppling over.

"If he had gone to the tower, he would be in no better a position," Dumbledore pointed out. "Someone knew Harry would be there and told the Death Eaters. We are lucky that once they realised they had been mis-informed, they abandoned the attack on Gryffindor tower before anyone was seriously hurt."

"Before anyone was hurt?" Lupin's voice rose hysterically, "Albus, they're going to kill Harry!"

"Remus, get a hold of yourself," said Dumbledore firmly. "Bellatrix will not dare hurt Harry. She has come here to get him _alive_. Now, I must go back to speak to the Minister. We have to act at once. But I promise you, I am doing everything I can to-"

"Ah – look out!" Lupin pushed Dumbledore to one side. A red jet of light whooshed past the spot where the Headmaster had been standing a moment before, slamming into the banister of the staircase.

"Don't move," said a husky voice. Sirius Black stepped out of the shadows, his wand pointed at Dumbledore's face. His eyes were narrowed to fierce slits, and he looked dishevelled and half-starved. There were leaves in his hair, mud all round the hem of his cloak, and scratches on his neck. But his hand holding the wand was very steady.

"Where is he?" he hissed, sloping forwards. His shoulders were shaking with suppressed rage as he looked at Dumbledore. "Where is my godson?"

"Sirius," Lupin stepped in front of the Headmaster, his face pale and his voice shaking a little. "Dumbledore isn't going to hurt Harry. He's…"

"Shut up!" Sirius barked. A flurry of red sparks shot out of his wand and Lupin fell silent. "You! You've been working for Dumbledore the whole time! You handed Harry to this killer!"

"You are upset and confused," Dumbledore said sternly, slowly reaching towards his own wand, "I do not know how you got into the castle, Sirius, but now is not the time for mad actions. Harry is in great danger and I am doing everything I can to save him."

"Liar!" Sirius shouted, his teeth bared like a dog. "What have you done to him? If you've hurt him – if you've touched one hair of his head –"

"There are Death Eaters in the castle!" Lupin cried, his voice rising in panic at the time they were wasting. "_They're_ the ones who've taken Harry. Let us go, Sirius, we don't have _time_ for this!"

Sirius made a noise like a wolf snarling, but the mention of Death Eaters seemed to have caught him off guard. His eyes widened a little, as if he was unsure of how to respond. Finally he settled by saying, "Stop lying!"

"_I'm not lying!_" Lupin raised his hands as if he wanted to punch Sirius. "Get out of the way, you idiot, _they're going to take Harry!_"

There was a bang and something hit Sirius in the chest, knocking him backwards. Dumbledore had pulled his own wand out of his robes and fired. Before Sirius could get back on his feet, Lupin leapt forward and grabbed his wrists, forcing his wand-tip towards the ceiling. A stunner shot out of Sirius' wand and hit the chandelier above them. Tiny shards of glass rained down around them as Lupin pushed his friend to the floor, pinning him down.

"Listen to me," Lupin panted, as Sirius growled and struggled. The teeth of both men were bared, and their breaths came in snarls. Lupin was neither as tall nor as heavy as Sirius, but the sheer desperation gave him the strength he needed. "Listen to me! _Dumbledore does not want Harry dead_. I do not want Harry dead. But he _is_ in danger _right now_ and we _have to act!_"

Sirius's struggles grew weaker, then stopped. He looked at his friend, whose face was tensed with desperation, and made a little sobbing noise like a wounded dog. Then he looked up at Dumbledore, standing over the two men with no trace of a smile on his lined old face.

"I must go, the Minister is waiting for me," said Dumbledore. "Sirius, do not follow me. If Harry can be saved, I will do it. I will bring him back to you."

Then he swept his robes up and strode away, his white hair streaming and glittering behind him in the flickering lights from the broken chandelier. Lupin released Sirius's wrists and stood up, pulling his friend to his feet.

"Tell me what happened," Sirius croaked, looking around as if searching for a sign that would point him to his godson. "Let me go after Dumbledore. How much time do we have? How did this happen? Why is the school so empty?"

Lupin did not answer his questions, but waited until Sirius had stopped babbling. His face did not look friendly. It looked hurt, and angry. "You thought _I_ took Harry?" he said quietly.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I was driven…mad…I…I…" He made a hopeless gesture with his hands, his face filled with sudden remorse, unable to find a suitable apology.

"It's alright," Lupin put his arms around Sirius's shoulders and pulled him close. Sirius was shuddering with every breath. "I understand. You were mad. As if I didn't know that already."

"Tell me what happened," Sirius whispered. "Tell me Harry is alright."

"I will," Lupin replied softly.

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TBC

And so concludes a chapter which I am not ashamed to put my name to. Unfortunately, I cannot claim credit for it. ENORMOUS THANKS to the brilliantly and brutally honest Uchethegirl, who beta read the first drafts of this chapter and tore it apart with the sheer power of her will. THANK YOU!


	22. One Final Plan

A/N: Oh, at last, at last! Chapter 22 is posted at last! It has taken three weeks, extensive plastic surgery, long consultation by the peerless Uchethegirl, the deletion and then reposting of Lost: Young Man, and endless requests from you, my dear readers – but at _last_, here it is, in the flesh, complete and unabridged, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Onwards!

Lost: Small Boy, Answers to Harry

-----------------------------------------

Hestia Jones had finished a scout of the Hogwarts halls, making sure that all the Death Eaters in the castle were right where the Aurors thought they were. She walked quickly, grinding her teeth as she went. She felt frustrated and jumpy. Minister Moody had lead them all out here to save the school, and now they were forced to just sit around while Moody and Dumbledore bargained with the dark wizards. _Bargained!_ It was enough to make Hestia's skin crawl.

She thought about the boy at the centre of all this mess – Harry Potter. Poor kid. Hestia had only met him once before, and that had been eight years ago, when he had lain in bed covered in bandages after a werewolf mauling. That was bad luck if ever she'd seen it. And then he and his Godfather had disappeared for nearly a decade – and now the boy was back, but in no position to tell them where he'd been all these years. Hestia shook her head, trying to keep her mind on the task at hand.

She came down a side staircase and saw the huge oaken doors of the castle below her, one door slightly ajar as though someone had forgotten to close it. Hestia paused, looking across the entrance hall pensively. The afternoon sunlight shining through the open door was weak and grey, but dark shadows were still cast in the corners of the hall. One shadow looked almost like a heavy animal hulking against the wall.

Then the shadow shifted slightly and Hestia froze. In an instant, her wand was in her hand, as she watched the black animal detach itself from the shadows and lope off down the hall. It was a dog, she realised – a huge, black, shaggy dog. A dog she had seen only twice before, many years past.

Sirius Black.

She felt her stomach do a backflip. Not possible – I'm imagining – he can't be – 

Hestia waited until the dog had disappeared around the corner before she took off, back to the Great Hall, where the rest of the Aurors were waiting. Her head was reeling. She supposed that if Harry Potter could appear out of nowhere after eight years, it was not such a surprise that the man he had vanished with might also appear. But more importantly, did anyone else know that he was here? Judging by the way he had been slinking around in the shadows, she had to assume the answer was no.

Hestia forced herself to slow down so that she would look composed when she came in sight of the rest of the Aurors. The Minister would want to know that Sirius Black was here in the castle. Black was an ex-Auror, after all, and so posed a threat to this delicate situation if he was working for the Death Eaters. _Sirius, working for Death Eaters?_ Hestia shook her head again, in an almost involuntary reflex. No – Sirius must be in league with Dumbledore. She had worked with him for several years: Sirius had been one of those who had trained her to be an Auror, he had saved her life on more than one occasion, he had fought beside her more times than she could count. She _knew_ he would not be working for Voldemort – it was laughable to even think such a thing. But in that case, why was Dumbledore keeping Sirius a secret? And, if Sirius was with Dumbledore, but Moody didn't know, should she betray Sirius and Dumbledore, or keep this quiet from the Minister?

_Tell him now, quick,_ Hestia thought to herself as the Aurors came into view, _don't be an idiot – this could ruin everything, _you_ could ruin everything – tell the Minister that Black is alive – do it now – _but her mouth refused to open.

"Jones, get over here," Moody's voice barked at her, and she hurried to rejoin the rest of the Aurors, who were arranged around the Minister in a tight circle, waiting with grim faces to hear what he planned. As Hestia slipped into the circle he began to speak.

"Well, Dumbledore's just given us some more unpleasant news. Apart from the fact that one of our own students, Nymphadora Tonks, is being held hostage by the filth in that Hall," he said, jerking his head at the entrance to the hall behind him, "his deputy headmistress has just told me that we've got less than an hour to get this situation under control, or Dumbledore's not going to be with us any longer – as you know, he made the Unbreakable Vow that he'll raise the anti-Apparating wards and he has so do it soon or it'll start to kill him. So," Moody breathed through his teeth, his magical eye flicking madly from face to face, "here's what's happening. Minerva McGonagall is waiting by the back door that leads off from the Hall. The Death Eaters are sitting right on that door, but they haven't been able to open it – Minerva alone can do that."

"And that's where we're going in…?" one of the younger Aurors asked eagerly. Moody's eye swung in his direction and he fell silent.

"That's where we're going in," Moody affirmed. "But not until we've got the Death Eaters' attention focused on the front of the hall. I'll explain that once Dumbledore gets here. First, I have to give you the most important instruction in this plan," Moody's face became even grimmer than it had been a moment before, "Dumbledore is trying to protect Harry Potter, the boy the Death Eaters are still holding. However, _your_ job is to get Miss Tonks out of that hall in one piece – and make sure Potter does not leave it alive."

Hestia drew a sharp breath. She was not the only one who had been caught unawares. The young auror who had spoken up before cried. "Blimey!" and Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a soft hiss as if Moody had punched him in the stomach.

"You mean to use the fight as cover for the boy's death," Kingsley said to Moody, and Hestia knew he was trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Standing next to him, she could feel him give a slight shudder as if his own words repulsed him, "because Dumbledore is protecting the boy and wants him unharmed."

"I think Dumbledore can be persuaded to see reason where Potter is concerned," said the Minister. "He was willing to kill him eight years ago, I don't think he'll have too much of a tantrum if the boy snuffs it today. But all the same – yes, I'd prefer Dumbledore saw the boy's death as an unfortunate accident."

Kingsley frowned and made no more interjections, but he did not seem surprised by the Minister's words. He had clearly known this was coming. Hestia, on the other hand could not believe her ears. What the Minister was proposing was cold murder – of an innocent child, nonetheless! Alastor Moody, the Auror famed for his mercy, for bringing in the most reprehensible Death Eaters alive, was telling them they had to ensure the death of a twelve-year-old boy!

It was not _possible!_ This was worse than just murder, this was appalling, this was – it was – Hestia could find no words to express how she felt about this crime.

"If you don't mind me asking, Minister," said Hestia, a little more loudly than was polite. "_Why_ do we have to kill Potter?"

Both of Moody's eyes swung towards her. "Why?" he growled. "Because I said so, Jones. If I told you all why, right here and now," he swept his gaze over the circle of shuffling Aurors, "you would be glad to put that poor boy out of his misery. You would wish we could have done it earlier. Eventually, you'll learn why this has to be done. But right now, all that matters is that the deed _is_ done."

"Ah, not starting without me are you, Minister?" said a stern voice from across the hallway. Albus Dumbledore was striding towards them, his brow twisted in an expression that was neither happy nor composed.

Hestia glanced at him, wanting interrogate him right there and now until he confirmed what she had seen._ Tell me the truth! Did I see Sirius Black? Is he with you?_ But as she opened her mouth to speak, Moody answered Dumbledore.

"Just getting my boys up to speed," Moody growled. "And girls," he added, thinking that Hestia had opened her mouth to protest, "Minerva said she could open the back door to us, Dumbledore. Got a problem with us coming in that way?"

"Not at all," said Dumbledore, as Hestia and Kingsley moved aside to allow him into the circle, of weary Aurors "but I do think the Death Eaters might be expecting something like that. They are most probably trying to break that door open to escape, we could hardly expect therm not to notice us."

"That's where you come in," said Moody, thumping his stick on the stone floor to get the attention back to his scarred face, as all the Aurors had turned to Dumbledore expectantly. "You're going to raise the wards, Dumbledore."

"I am?" was Dumbledore's, slightly incredulous, answer.

"Too right you are," said Moody. "We'll be waiting by the back door, and I'll be able to see you through the wall, of course," he tapped his magical eye, "but there's nothing like the chance to escape to distract Death Eaters. It'll take you some time to raise the wards, won't it?"

"Several minutes, I expect," Dumbledore ventured dubiously. "However, I –"

"Good,"the Minister cut him off hastily. "Once all eyes are on you, Minerva will open the door, and the lot of us will jump those Death Eaters from behind, before they can Apparate. We'll grab Tonks and Potter, stun those degenerate scum and make sure everything is wrapped up."

"You realise," said Dumbledore slowly, "that once I begin to raise the wards, I will not be able to stop until they are gone? That you will have those brief minutes to attack, and no more? And if you are a moment too late, the Death Eaters will have vanished? Or even a moment too early, and they will not have their attention on me?"

"I hear you," Moody insisted, "but I reckon by lads – and lasses – are up to the job, don't you?" he looked around at his Aurors, who, all except for Hestia, nodded confidently.

Dumbledore sighed a little as if he did not have quite as much conviction in the Auror's ambushing ability, but he did not say anything.

"Right then," Moody continued, looking back at Dumbledore, "we'll head around to the anteroom outside the backdoor now to sort out our formation. In ten minutes, you can enter that hall – and be careful, won't you– and tell the Lestrange woman you're going to raise the wards."

"I doubt she will believe me," Dumbledore pointed out, "seeing as I have tricked her once already. She will certainly suspect that something is up."

"Then you can tell her you'll do it if she swears to leave Tonks and Potter behind when she Apparates. She won't, but she'll have the sense to pretend."

Dumbledore nodded, a little hesitantly. "Very well. But tell me first – how is it you plan to retrieve Tonks unharmed? Harry is not in nearly as much danger as she is, as in their panic the Death Eaters may well kill her before you can reach her."

"That's fairly simple – summoning spells," grunted Moody in reply.

"_Summoning_ spells?"

At Dumbledore's obvious scepticism, Kingsley ventured an explanation. "It's a simple trick, we use it a lot for pulling our wounded out of battle. Mostly in emergency situations where we haven't had a chance to plant a portkey on them."

Moody nodded and elaborated. "It's all too easy, Headmaster. Three of us yelling _Accio Tonks_ as we run in there and she'll come zooming out before those scum know she's gone. Bit uncomfortable for her, like being pitched through the air by a bad-tempered troll, but it's better than being dead."

"I see," said Dumbledore, raising one thick eyebrow critically, but he did not comment on this unorthodox method of transport any further.

"Right, then. We're moving off," said Moody, gesturing for the rest of the Aurors to follow him.

"One moment, Minister," said Hestia, as the Aurors began to move towards the corridor that would take them around the Great Hall. "Someone has to inform Dawlish and Podmore of the plan. They're still in the Hall keeping an eye on the Death Eaters, remember sir?"

Moody did not turn his head towards her, but Hestia knew that the Minister's magical eye had spun around in its socket to look in her direction. "And you're volunteering, are you? Well, go on then, and hurry back."

Hestia nodded. Once the rest of the Aurors were out of sight, she turned to Dumbledore. Should she tell him what Moody was planning to do with Harry? But then she remembered what Moody had said – that Dumbledore might actually condone the murder of Harry Potter. After all, Dumbledore was facing his own death if he did not raise the wards. Would he put the life of a doomed twelve-year-old boy over the continued existence of a Headmaster of Hogwarts?

She came to a decision very quickly. "I'll be back in a moment, Headmaster," she said, and dashed away.

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Sirius had his head in his hands as Lupin, told him the whole story of how Harry had ended up held hostage in the Great Hall. Both of them felt so wrenched by worry about Harry they had had to sit down on the bottom steps of the marble staircase.

"I know this is the worst news you could ever hear," said Lupin, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "But I promise you, Dumbledore and Moody are doing everything they can to bring Harry back safely."

"Moody wants Harry dead!" Sirius croaked. "And as for Dumbledore – you're being a fool, Remus, if you think he's changed his mind since he asked me to kill Harry eight years ago."

"Dumbledore wants to see Harry alive and well," said Lupin firmly. "The Minister knows that Harry is under his protection."

"That won't stop Moody," said a female voice from beside him. Lupin looked up to see a black-haired, pink-cheeked woman hurrying across to them. He glimpsed the Auror badge on her shoulder and thought she looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember her name.

As Sirius looked up, surprise washed over his face. A moment later, the black-haired Auror had hurled herself at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "It _is_ you!" she cried, pulling back after a moment to look at him. "I thought you were dead, Black!"

"Far from it," Sirius said, actually smiling a little, to the utter shock of Lupin. "How are you, Jones? Shouldn't you be with the Minister?"

"I had to come looking for you," she said, standing up again. "The Aurors are going to break into the hall any minute now."

"They're going to rescue Harry? I have to come, I can help-" Sirius made to stand up but Hestia grabbed his arm.

"No. Listen to me first. I don't have much time, I should be with them…" Hestia took a breath, grimacing at the news she was about to deliver. "Minister Moody plans for the Aurors to attack the Death Eaters from behind. In all the confusion, he's ordered us to kill your godson, or let the Death Eaters do it for us," she spoke in a rush, trying to make him understand that this wasn't what she wanted. But guilt was rising at the back of her mind that she had not tried find a solution herself, but had come to him, hoping he could solve everythiing. "Either way, he says he won't let Harry leave the Great Hall alive."

All the emotion vanished from Sirius' face, and it became as blank and cold as stone.

"What?" Lupin stared at her, aghast, "Dumbledore won't allow it…he said he wouldn't…"

"Dumbledore doesn't know," Hestia amended coldly. "But those are the orders we were given."

Sirius stared at her for a moment, then in the next, he shook of Hestia's grip and was on his feet. "You're sure of all this?"

Hestia nodded, face taut with emotions. Lupin felt as if someone had plunged him into a vat of icy water. He couldn't even move. "I don't berlieve it…" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"I have to go back, I promised I'd return to help as soon as I could," Hestia was saying to Sirius. "But I couldn't just leave things as they were, if there was a chance…a chance you could… I don't want that boy dead, Sirius… but what can we do?"

Lupin could not speak, could not think, could not even conceive why Sirius was standing there almost placidly, not shouting or sobbing, or any other thing that Lupin felt like doing. Chancing a glance at his friend's face, he saw it was calm, calculating. He thought he could almost _see_ the gears churning frantically underneath. He turned toward Hestia, who nearly vibrating with the need to act; her lips were pressed together as she awaited some divine solution from Sirius. But Lupin had no such faith – they were helpless, there was just nothing they could do…

But Sirius was speaking now, as if through gritted teeth, "You have to go back to the _Minister_," he said slowly, placing vicious emphasis on the last word. He sounded as if his vitriol was being aimed at Hestia, and Lupin glanced at her, hoping she would not take offence, but her expression had not changed: she seemed to understand that Sirius's wrath was not intended for her. "How are they going to get through those doors?"

"I think Minerva is going to unlock them. She's the only one apart from Dumbledore who can," said Lupin, getting to his feet.

"Good," said Sirius, "Hestia, get to Minerva McGonagall, and do anything you can to stop her letting Moody into the Hall. Tell her Harry's life depends on it – stun her if you have to, do _anything_ that you can."

"But Dumbledore's going to raise the wards on the hall," said Hestia. "If the Aurors don't stop them, the Death Eaters will be able Apparate away, with Harry."

"But they won't," said Sirius. He put his hand into his robes and withdrew a closed fist. "Trust me, Hestia, they won't. Go now, get to McGonagall, and _keep that door closed_. Leave the Death Eaters to me."

Hestia paused, and by the look on her face, she seemed to be considering whether or not Sirius had gone mad. Then, after a long moment of hesitation, she nodded, touched his arm, and darted back the way she had come. She didn't know what Sirius was planning, but she had trusted his leadership when he had been an Auror, and she would trust him now. She knew only one thing for sure: she simply could not let her fellow Aurors start killing children.

Sirius lifted his fist, and Lupin saw a glint of gold shining from between his fingers. "What is that?" he asked. He was afraid that Sirius was about to do something very, very foolish. "What are you planning? How can you possibly stop the Death Eaters all by yourself?"

"I did some tests," Sirius' voice shook as he closed his fist over the gold, "weeks ago. I'd had my suspicions, of course, but the tests proved it for sure. I've been meaning to tell you, but I…I'm sorry, Remus, but I did fear that there was a chance you would take it and give it to Dumbledore, and if he asked you where you got it from, you wouldn't be able to lie…"

"_What is that?_" Lupin repeated, leaning forward to try and see what Sirius was holding. He resisted the urge to grab his friend's hand and pry his fingers open. As if Sirius had read his mind, he pulled his fist protectively close.

"I don't know why I brought it. I guess I just didn't want to leave it at Grimmauld Place, unguarded," Sirius said as he looked up. "We have to get to the Great Hall. I'm going to bargain with the Death Eaters. And I'm going to do a better job of it than Dumbledore has."

Lupin stared at him. He was truly convinced that Sirius had now been totally unhinged. Did he think he could pay the Death Eaters to let Harry go? Did he think he could talk his cousin Bellatrix into releasing the hostages? Lupin realised if he didn't stop Sirius now, only the worst would come out of this.

"No," he said, and suddenly he drew his wand. "You _have_ gone mad. You're risking the lives of everyone in this castle if you let those Death Eaters loose. Don't you see that? I'll stun you before I'll let you do that."

"Alright," said Sirius, and suddenly, he drew back his fist and slammed it into Lupin's temple. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher staggered back, tripping on the bottom stair and just managing to put out his hands to prevent his head hitting the marble steps. He jumped up, a spell ready on his lips, but Sirius was already gone. Swearing to himself, Lupin sprinted after him, back towards the Great Hall.

---------------------------------------------

Hestia was running as well, through the narrow back corridors that lead around the Great Hall to the back door where Minister Moody planned to ambush the Death Eaters. At last, she saw the back of Kingsley's black head, and a moment later, the rest of the Aurors came into view, grouped around Minerva McGonagall. The Transfiguration teacher had her hand on the doorknob of a large oaken door, and her wand was pointed at the lock, but she did not yet look ready to open it. Minister Moody was speaking to the Aurors nearest to him, and it was Kingsley who heard Hestia's footsteps and turned to her first.

"Jones – you took your time," he rumbled. "Do you have a message from Dumbledore…?"

"Out of the way, Shacklebolt," Hestia gasped, trying to push past Kingsley. This was a mistake, as he was much taller than her.

Kingsley stepped sideways to block her path. He frowned, "Why the hurry? Has something happened?"

"Just let me through! I have to speak to the Professor-"

"Why?" He knew something was up, and that she was doing something foolish. Hestia's hand twitched towards her wand, but she did not draw it.

"Do you want that boy dead?" she asked quietly, so that the Aurors behind Kingsley could not hear her.

Kingsley paused, frozen for a few moments. Then he said coldly. "It does not fall to me to disobey the Minister."

"Then let _me_ disobey!" Hestia fumed. "Harry Potter's godfather is in the castle and he has a way to save him. But you _have_ – _to let _– _me pass_ – "

For a moment, Kingsley stood immobile, frowning down at Hestia. Then he drew his cloak back and stepped aside. Hestia did not pause to thank him, but ran forward, squeezed between two younger Aurors and threw herself towards McGonagall. The professor looked up, and Hestia gasped. "_Don't open that door, Minerva!_"

"What is it, Jones?" came Moody's rough grunt. Hestia felt the Minister's hand on her shoulder as he pulled her around to face him. His eye was swinging madly as he spoke. "What's happened?"

Hestia shrugged him off and turned away. McGonagall stil standing at the door, looking a apprehensive. Hestia blurted out to her. "If you let us into that hall, we are going to kill Harry Potter. Minerva – he's twelve years old – please don't…"

She did not get any further. Moody raised his wand and slashed downwards twice. There was a bang like a gun and Hestia crumpled at McGonagall's feet, no wound visible on her body but quite definitely unconscious. Several of the watching Aurors shouted in surprise, but they did not reach for their wands.

McGonagall put her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. Moody stepped over Hestia's limp body, his magical blue eye not staring through the solid wall into the hall beyond, and he said in a forbidding tone. "Dumbledore is raising the wards. Open the door, Minerva."

"What did she mean?" McGonagall's brows knotted together as she collected herself and took a firmer grip on her wand. She surveyed the minister coolly. "You intend to murder him? A _child?_ You're going to _kill a child?_"

"We _will_ kill him," Moody answered, his voice growing deeper and louder. "And if you do not let us into the hall, the Death Eaters will be able to escape, taking that boy with them, along with our last chance to finally strike a true blow against You-Know-Who. Not to mention leaving this school open to further attack."

"Not necessarily," said a deep voice, and Minerva looked up at Kingsley Shacklebolt, standing tall and formidable beside the Minister. "Hestia said Sirius Black is in the castle. She seemed convinced that he has a way to save Potter."

"Sirius _Black?_" McGonagall looked from Kingsley to the Minister. Her face was white and her lips were trembling: perhaps she thought the Aurors were all under the Imperius curse, or had lost their minds from the pressure of their careers. Her grip on her wand tightened, ready to defend herself if they attacked.

"That is highly unlikely," Moody's voice rose to a bellow. "For God's sake, McGonagall, we are running out of time. Open the door!"

"I cannot allow you to kill an innocent child," McGonagall straightened her glasses as she spoke, trying to keep the waver out of her voice. "If there is even the slightest chance he can be saved..."

"You foolish woman!" Moody barked, raising his wand a little, and McGonagall flinched indignantly, her eyes flashing. "Don't you know what Potter is?"

"Dumbledore has explained the situation to me," McGonagall replied as calmly as she could, although her hands were trembling at her side. "He wanted to do everything possible to save Harry's life. I can only do the same."

The Minister stood, shaking with rage, then turned and limped away from her, crying, "Back! Aurors, back to the main doors!"

McGonagall, feeling furious and fearful, breathed heavily, as the Aurors, muttering and glancing uneasily at each other, followed their Minister. Kingsley paused to bend down and check that Hestia was not hurt. Satisfied that she had merely been knocked out, he straightened up and nodded to McGonagall. "I hope we have done the right thing, Minerva."

McGonagall closed her eyes, leaning against the closed door, and said quietly. "Shacklebolt, I hope only that the Minister remembers what we are fighting for."

---------------------------------------------

Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, nodding to Dawlish and Podmore, the two Aurors standing guarding on the inside of the doors. Before she had returned to the Minister, Hestia had already slipped inside and told them what the rest of the Aurors were going to do to capture the Death Eaters. Dumbledore had no idea she was planning to prevent them doing it at all costs.

The Headmaster cast the _sonorus_ spell and once again called to Bellatrix Lestrange. He told her he wanted no more bloodshed in his school, and he was willing to raise the anti-Apparation wards if she was willing to leave Harry and Tonks behind when she left. Bellatrix agreed, unable to keep the smirk out of her voice. Dumbledore sighed and took a few steps forward so that he was standing with the hall divided on each side of him. He took his wand and felt for the invisible magical triggers that would help him strip away the ancient spells that protected the school.

A few minutes went by in silence. The Death Eaters were on their feet, watching Dumbledore intently, though there was very little to see apart from a few flickering lights glinting as the wards were disabled one by one. Dumbledore was in a half-trance, slowly unravelling the charms set into the stones of the school, his hands moving around unseen threads that hung in the air in front of him. He began to feel uneasy. He was sure Moody should have entered the hall by now. But he could not stop what he was doing, as he did not know what would happen if he allowed the ancient charms to spring back into place.

_Where was Moody?_ Something had gone wrong, Dumbledore realised with a jolt. In a few moments more, the wards would be lifted, and the Death Eaters would be able to Apparate. The Headmaster tensed himself, ready to try his own brand of magic to stop them escaping. He knew he could not prevent them all Apparating, but with luck he might be able to keep a few, those holding Harry and Tonks at the least, trapped in the hall.

Then he heard the door to the Great Hall, which he had closed behind him, crash open. Dawlish, still standing beside it, yelled, "Hey!" and then gave a cry as something that sounded like an Impediment Jinx hit him. Dumbledore could not turn to look, but then a tall, dark-haired figure sped past him.

The figure vaulted up onto the nearest house table and shot an enormous jet of white sparks into the air. The Death Eaters at the other end of the hall were jostling each other, wanting to know what was happening. Dumbledore suddenly recognised the figure: it was Sirius.

Harry's godfather dropped his wand and raised his other hand, holding aloft a glint of gold. Dumbledore had the sudden impression, so inappropriate it was laughable, that Sirius looked like a Quidditch player who had caught the golden snitch.

Then, with a sudden _whoosh_ and a wind that rushed across the hall, the wards vanished. And at the same moment, Sirius bellowed, in magically amplified voice, _"I HAVE YOUR MASTER'S LOCKET!"_

"Stop!" Bellatrix shrieked, as two Death Eaters beside her realised they could Apparate and disappeared with a pop, "All of you, _stay where you are_!"

The rest of the Death Eaters remained in place, confused and disbelieving, and looking as if they wanted to Disapparate even without their leader's authorisation. But Bellatrix was looking at Sirius with her mouth open. Dumbledore, who knew nothing except that he had been given a last chance to stop the Death Eaters, glanced at Sirius as well. He saw that the object in Sirius' hand was not a snitch, but a large, ungainly golden locket. It hung from a chain that Sirius had clamped in his hand. Upon the locket, an 'S' was engraved deeply.

"_BELLATRIX!"_ Sirius cried, in a roar so loud the hall seemed to shake with it, _"GIVE ME BACK MY GODSON!_"

---------------------------------------------

TBC

Once again BIG HUGS AND THANKS to Uchethegirl, who beta-read this chapter for me.

The first person to figure out the reference of McGonagall's "eyes flashing" gets to see my jaw drop and hit the floor. Go on, guess. You'll never get it. :)

Next Chapter: The Life Bargain.


	23. The Life Bargain

Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

-----------------------------

He stood on the long table, the locket held high in his hand. Sirius could see the distant white oval of Bellatrix's face, her mouth hanging open. He could hear Dumbledore calling to him, ordering him to stop at once. He could also hear Lupin's voice, pleading for him to get down, and the voice of the Aurors he had jinxed, telling Lupin not to take another step. All these voices were blurred and distant in Sirius's ears. All that mattered was Bellatrix, and that she listen to him.

"_Bella!_" he yelled. _"You know what this is! And I will smash it – right now – if you do not release my Godson!_"

In fact, he doubted the locket would be that easy to destroy. However, it seemed Bellatrix was in just as much doubt, and did not want to risk the possibility that Sirius would smash it. He saw her raise her wand and heard the faint, "_Accio locket!",_ but he was expecting this and clung to the chain with all his might. The spell snatched it and tried to rip it away, the chain digging into his palm as the locket flew forwards, but it was only a spell, and Sirius was stronger. Thwarted, Bellatrix lowered her wand and cried back to him. "You are proposing a trade, cousin?"

"You cannot lose," Sirius shouted. Something seemed to be pounding the inside of his head so that he could barely think straight, and he licked his lips before he spoke again. "Take the locket, and it is worth the same to you as Harry's life. But give me Harry and you know I will protect him. All that matters to you is that he is alive – and the locket is unbroken – and only this way can you ensure both – "

"Sirius," Dumbledore was standing below him, and Sirius almost quailed when he glanced at the Headmaster's face. He had never seen Dumbledore so furious. His beard was quivering, his eyes so cold they seemed to burn. "What are you doing?"

"It's a Horcrux," Sirius said. His voice was cold and hard as steel. He could not let Dumnbledore stare him down. "The locket. And they want it. Dumbledore – Moody's going to kill Harry – this is the only thing left for me to do."

"Do not give them that locket," Dumbledore commanded. "You are handing Voldemort another step to immortality."

Sirius tore his gaze away from those imperious blue eyes and looked at Bellatrix. The Death Eaters were moving and shuffling, muttering among themselves. Now that they could Apparate, they wanted to leave, but Bellatrix silenced them with a wave of her hand. It seemed that she alone knew what the locket was and what it would mean if Sirius destroyed it.

"_Give the locket to me!"_ She yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth, _"Use a banishing charm to send it to me and I'll let the boy go!_"

"Sirius, she's lying! She won't let Harry go!" Lupin was struggling with the two Aurors, who, having let Sirius run straight past them, seemed determined not to allow anyone else get into the hall. Sirius swayed where he stood, at a loss. He wanted to sprint down the hall towards his godson, snatch him back from the filthy hands of the Death Eaters, but he knew they would overcome him and take the locket by force if he did.

"Give me the locket," Dumbledore commanded. Sirius looked at him sharply, and saw that the Headmaster was stretching out his hand. His face was white and there was not a trace of a smile in his eyes. They were so cold they seemed to burn.

"What?"

"Give the locket to me," Dumbledore repeated. "You are weak and confused, Sirius, and I do not trust you not to let your love for Harry overcome your good sense. Bellatrix will use your love against you, she _will_ overcome you. But give me the locket – and I promise I will make the trade."

"No," Sirius croaked, pressing the heavy gold locket to his chest. His head was aching. What if Dumbledore was right? What if Bellatrix was able to manipulate him through Harry? If she tortured him…if she hurt him…Sirius knew he would not be able to keep a hold of himself. He did not know what he would do.

Behind them, Lupin elbowed Dawlish in the face, pulled free of Podmore's grasp, and dashed to Dumbledore's side. "Headmaster, you must stay here."

"Someone must trade…" Dumbledore began, but Lupin interrupted him.

"_I_ will take the locket and make the exchange."

Dumbledore shook his head, his voice deep and forbidding. "Remus, you are in the same position. You care too much…"

"No, Dumbledore. I care just the right amount," Lupin said coldly, and he glanced up at Sirius. Their eyes met for a moment, and then, looking as if he was tearing his own heart out, Sirius nodded. He stepped wearily down from the table and held his hand out to Lupin, the locket lying open on his palm.

"Go," he said quietly.

"I'll come back," Lupin promised. It felt like a lie. He resisted the urge to pull Sirius into a goodbye hug. Then he turned towards the far end of the hall and raised the locket so that Bellatrix could see it.

He heard Dumbledore mutter, _"Sonorus_," and a moment later the headmaster's powerful voice rang throughout the hall as Lupin stepped forwards, "Bellatrix, one of my Professors will deliver the locket to you. But first, bring both of the hostages out into the open. You must come forward to receive the locket. Harry and Tonks must be on either side of you when the exchange is made. And you must all be wandless, as my Professor will be."

Lupin glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded. With a twinge of fear, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher held out his wand and gave it to the Headmaster, who did not put it into his pocket but held it in his left hand as if he, like Bellatrix, was capable of wielding it just as well as his own. Dumbledore bent a little to speak quietly to him. "Once they have let Tonks go and Harry is in your hands, Apparate back to us, and tell Tonks to do the same. Do not wait."

Lupin nodded, but did not speak. His jaw seemed to have locked up.

They waited a moment while Bellatrix relayed her instructions to her Death Eaters, pointing and gesturing to the empty space in front of the dais. At last, she handed the two wands in her hand to a man beside her, and then vaulted boldly over the table, raising her hands to show she was unarmed. Two of her Death Eaters followed her. One of them was keeping a firm hold on Tonks as she clambered over the table, the other was clutching Harry's arm while the boy scrambled down onto the floor of the hall. The five of them walked forwards into the open space and waited.

Lupin took a deep breath and, holding the locket in front of him, began to make the long walk between the house tables towards the Death Eaters. He did not look back.

The pulse of his footsteps sounded impossibly loud in his ears, until he realised he was hearing the blood pumping from his heart. Without his wand, he felt naked and helpless. But he could see Harry's face clearly now. And the boy was smiling with relief, the faintest of tremulous smiles, but it was there.

The Death Eaters holding Tonks and Harry were standing closer to Lupin than Bellatrix, who was poised a little further back, her black robes spilling around her. As he walked closer, Bellatrix stretched out her arms as if she could pull the locket towards her with the power of her will alone, a greedy grin on her face. Feeling revolted, Lupin looked away from her. To the left, at Harry, then right, and his eyes met those of Tonks. His steps faltered a little.

Tonks' face was not hopeful, nor relieved, not even fearfully apprehensive. She looked totally, helplessly, despairing. She was mouthing something, turning her head so that the Death Eater standing behind her holding her arms could not see. Lupin couldn't make it out.

He looked back at Bellatrix. Her desperate, greedy expression was awful to look upon. Bile rose in Lupin's throat. Before he could think about what he was doing, he stopped and stood, a few feet away from her. Tonks and her guard were now directly on his right, Harry and the second Death Eater on his left.

"Give it to me," Bellatrix spat. She clutched at the empty air, the smile vanishing from her face. "Give it to me now! _Now!_" she spat again, beginning to sound like a spoiled child.

Lupin turned his head and looked at Tonks. Now he saw what she was trying to tell him, and a cold fist closed around his heart. Her mouthed moved soundlessly, forming the words one by one, _Take Harry now. They will kill you._

He looked back at Bellatrix, whose hands were now bent into claws, her mouth open in a rage-filled snarl. The Death Eaters standing up on the dais were watching, and Lupin saw that several of them were trying to conceal their wands. They were waiting for Bellatrix to give a signal. They were going to curse Lupin and Tonks down as soon as the locket was in Bellatrix's hands. Lupin looked at Harry, whose eyes were pleading.

Harry was all that mattered.

"_Give it to me!_" Bellatrix commanded in her cold-wine voice. Her face was twisting in a snarl of fury but her voice had become aloof, imperious. She knew he had nowhere to go, no choice left now. Except, maybe, one chance…

He wasn't thinking about Bellatrix. His mind was focussing on a point just in front of Harry. He didn't like Apparating. He'd never particularly liked it as a method of transport, just as he didn't like Floo powder. But a little discomfort was sometimes necessary. "Come and take it," was what he said to Bellatrix, and at the last word, he was gone.

His Apparation was off by about three feet, and he appeared behind the Death Eater instead of in front of him. It took Lupin a moment to turn, but he was already bringing his fist up and smashing it as hard as he could into the black cloak, where he thought the man's neck must be. Back, and again he punched him, as the man grunted and double over: Harry was still trapped in the Death Eater's arms and the boy began to yell as the man's weight pressed against him. Again, and again, Lupin brought his fist down on the man's neck, with muscles that were unused to delivering blows. On the fourth punch, he heard a crack and pain exploded in his hand: it felt as if he had broken all his knuckles. But the Death Eater was toppling forwards and sideways and lay still on the ground.

Harry struggled to stand up, the unconscious Death Eater's arms still clutching him. Lupin reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, wrenching him up onto his feet. He had one arm around the boy's shoulders, and his ears were full of shouting: Harry's voice, Bellatrix's voice, the voices of the Death Eaters.

Some of the Death Eaters were pointing their wands down the hall, to the great oaken doors, which suddenly slammed shut and glowed briefly white: the Death Eaters had sealed the doors. At the other end of the Great Hall Dawlish and Podmore hammered on them, casting ineffectual curses on them that rebounded, so that they had to duck to avoid their own spells.

Tonks was shouting now. Lupin saw her break free of the grip of the man holding her and fling herself to the ground to avoid bolts of magic that exploded from the wands of the Death Eaters up on the dais. They were leaping over the table, down onto the floor. They were rushing towards Tonks and Lupin, ready to kill, and Lupin had only a moment to Disapparate to safety.

At the other end of the hall, the shouts of the Aurors joined the yells of the Death Eaters: but they were distant and muffled, coming from the corridor outside: the front doors to the hall were sealed up too tightly. Lupin could not see from this distance, but Dumbledore was raising his own wand to break the barrier holding the door shut. Trying to block out the chaos around him, Lupin closed his eyes, preparing to side-along Apparate with Harry.

Then something like a hammer hit him in the side of the head and for a brief moment he lost all sense of where he was. He lost hold of Harry: or someone tore the boy out of his hands. When his vision cleared he was on the ground, and Bellatrix Lestrange had one bony hand around his throat, her knees pinning him down. Her thinness belied the crushing strength in her fingers, the hate that was driving her and lending her strength. She was choking him. Her other hand was scrabbling at his closed fist, where he still clutched the hard, sharp lump of gold.

"The locket! Give it to me!" 

Lupin twisted, saw that Harry was trying to get to his feet a little way away, but a curse from the Death Eaters must have hit him: his legs were locked together. Lupin could no longer remember why he was still clutching the locket. Dizziness was thudding through him: he needed air…Bellatrix was going to kill him…

"Get off him, you bitch!" something bright pink slammed into Bellatrix's shoulder and the dark-haired witch was thrown to the ground, losing her grip on Lupin's throat. He rolled sideways as Tonks, her hair seeming to flame like a beacon in his swimming vision, pinned Bellatrix down and began to pummel her with her fists, her face twisted in rage. Bellatrix could barely raise her arms to protect her face.

Lupin, gasping for breath, half-staggered, half-ran to Harry's side, but there were Death Eaters surrounding them now. He knelt, clutching Harry's shoulder, trying to side-along Apparate them to the other end of the hall, but he was still woozy from oxygen deprivation. He couldn't focus: and now there was a circle of Death Eaters around them, there was a broad-shouldered man in a black cloak who had his wand pointed at Lupin's face: Lupin froze, wheezing, his throat aching where Bellatrix's fingers had crushed it.

Now Bellatrix had thrown Tonks off, snatched a wand off a Death Eater who was running to her aid and fired a curse at the pink-haired witch, who rolled away and pushed herself to her feet, leaping sideways to avoid a second curse.

"Stand up," the broad-shouldered Death Eater growled. Lupin realised the Locket was still in his hand: he glanced desperately around, but he was completely surrounded by a ring of snarling Death Eaters. Harry was sitting up, clinging to the hem of Lupin's cloak.

"Don't give it to them!" Harry's voice pierced through Lupin's muddled thoughts. Protect Harry, protect Locket, that was all that mattered…

And through a gap between the Death Eater's shoulders, Lupin saw Tonks' pink hair flashing as she ducked under Bellatrix's arm and head-butted the dark haired woman in the stomach. Bellatrix doubled over, winded, and Tonks raised her arm to hit her again.

"_Tonks!_" Lupin screamed. _"Take it!_" And without thinking further, he drew his arm back and threw the locket as hard as he could, over the ring of Death Eaters. The broad-shouldered man reached up but it was spinning high above his grasp: the golden locket was sailing through the air and Tonks had seen it. She leaned back, her arms stretched out, caught the chain with the tips of her fingers…

Bellatrix staggered forward and knocked Tonks off balance. The two women swayed and fell, the locket skidding across the stone floor, out of reach of two pairs of scrabbling arms. And Lupin heard Bellatrix's voice rise, _"Accio Locket!_"

At the other end of the hall, the Aurors broke through the Death Eater's barrier at last, swarming in through the main doors. It took them only an instant to register what was happening and Disapparate. Cracks filled the air as they Apparated around the Death Eaters, stunning spells already flying from their wands.

Either the Death Eaters panicked, or they heard Bellatrix screech in success as the locket zoomed into her hand and she pushed Tonks away. At any rate, they suddenly began to Disapparate as fast as they could. The wind of their leaving rushed across Lupin's face, as he clutched Harry's shoulder. Bellatrix, her face lit with triumph as she clutched the Locket to her chest, vanished just as Kingsley fired a stunner at her, and it slashed through the empty air where she had been standing. Relief and frustration washed over Lupin. The Locket was gone: but Harry was safe.

Sirius had Apparated with the Aurors, and he fired a curse at the broad-shouldered Death Eater, who blocked it with a shield charm and Disapparated. He stepped forward and saw Lupin half-kneeling on the ground. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, but before he could shout a warning something struck Lupin hard between the shoulder blades.

He tumbled forward. Sirius, already moving, caught him and dropped him just as quickly, lunging forward, his wand raised. The nameless Death Eater who stood there had a sharp, pointed face, and he was already firing: Sirius ducked and the curse missed him. But in that second that he had lost, the Death Eater had gained enough time. He bent, grabbed Harry by his hair and pulled him up. He was grinning as his arm locked around the boy's chest. Harry, his glasses askew, was trying to scratch the man with his free arm. And then the Death Eater gave a little twist in the air, and Disapparated.

A dull kind of ringing was filling Lupin's ears. He stared at the spot where the Death Eater had been, willing him to come back, tensed to act when there was nothing there to act upon. The throbbing ache in his throat and his hand receded to nothing. The Aurors around him were crying out triumphantly: they had captured several of the Death Eaters, though most of them had escaped. Lupin could not hear them.

Behind him, Kingsley was helping Tonks to her feet. She was sobbing, "I'm sorry…I dropped it…I dropped the locket…" and he was hushing her. Dumbledore had Apparated nearby: he was standing somewhere to Lupin's right: he did not speak, but stood, stone still.

"Where's the boy? _Where's the boy?_" That was Moody's voice. One of the Aurors answered him.

"Dolohov…at least, I _think_ it was Dolohov…he Disapparated…"

"_What?_"

"He stunned Podmore…"

"…grabbed the boy…"

"…he was too quick…"

"…what happened…?"

"The Locket! Lestrange took it!"

"She _what?_"

Fragments of speech, unable to pierce the thick fog that had filled Lupin's head. He still stood, staring at the spot where Harry had disappeared. What did finally reach his brain was a soft clattering sound as Sirius's wand fell from his hand and rolled across the stone floor. And then Sirius was falling onto all fours, one hand clutching at his face, and he gave a terrible, animalistic moan of grief.

The Aurors were gathering around in a circle.

"Black!" Moody spat, limping forwards, shaking with rage. "What have you done? _What have you done?_ We had everything under control – and then you – and Jones – you've ruined everything…"

"Get back, Alastor," Dumbledore's deep voice seemed to physically push Moody away, and the Minister stepped back a pace. Sirius was curled on the ground, his black hair falling forwards so that his face was hidden behind it. Dumbledore's strong brown hand grasped Lupin's shoulder.

"Are you hurt, Remus?"

Lupin turned his head to look at Dumbledore. "No," he said faintly. His voice sounded very distant and weak. Dumbledore was looking at Sirius.

"Is _he_ hurt?"

"I don't know," Lupin replied, and still it sounded like someone else speaking from the other end of the hall. He thought dully, _what a stupid question_, for Dumbledore must know that Sirius was worse than hurt. The Aurors standing around seemed to be going out of focus. This could not be real. This could not be happening. Harry could not be gone.

But this was real. Harry was gone.

----------------------------------

END OF PART TWO

----------------------------------

Epilogue

----------------------------------

Darkness had filled the night sky. The lights of Hogwarts castle were dimmed, except for a few golden points where students sat in their common rooms, talking late into the night, and in the tall windows of the hospital wing.

"Done," said Madame Pomfrey, cracking Lupin's knuckles with her wand to test his reflexes. It turned out that when Lupin had punched the Death Eater holding Harry, he had broken his thumb, but Madame Pomfrey had taken only an instant to heal it completely. Thanking the matron, Lupin stood up and began to walk the length of the hospital wing.

Curtains were pulled around the bed next to the one where he had been sitting. Lupin did not part them. Lying in that bed was the body of Professor Sinistra, a white sheet pulled over her cold form. She had been in charge of the magical barrier that covered the school, in the sky above its topmost tower. When she had been murdered, the ward had collapsed, and the Death Eaters had invaded the school from the air, via broomsticks.

But who had killed her was not yet known. Lupin had already asked Dumbledore where Professor Snape had been during the conflict, and Dumbledore had coolly told him that Snape had been in the Slytherin Common room, protecting the students there. And when Lupin had made the insinuation that Snape had been strangely absent just before Sinistra's murder, Dumbledore had fixed him with an icy stare and asked him if he would make his suggestions a little more clear, otherwise someone might think he was accusing Severus of killing the Astronomy teacher. Lupin had not brought the topic up again.

To his right, Dumbledore and McGonagall were sitting beside a bed where a young boy lay. He was not lying passive: he was writhing, the sheets twisted around him. He clutched his forehead with his hands, his teeth gritted, and every few moments he emitted a soft involuntary cry of pain. Dumbledore reached out and touched his arm.

"It is not lessening, Neville?" he asked softly. McGonagall leaned forward anxiously.

"No," Neville moaned through gritted teeth. "It keeps burning. Oh…he's _happy_…he's so happy…"

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore sharply and hissed, "What does he mean, Headmaster?"

Neville gasped, rolling onto his side, one hand pressed to the scar on his forehead. Dumbledore touched his shoulder gently, and said quietly. "I will explain everything later, Minerva. Neville already understands."

Lupin walked onwards. The lamps from here onwards had been extinguished, so that the rest of the long room was only lit by faint moonlight. On either side of him, a dozen and a half beds were full of children, but unlike Neville, most of them were sleeping peacefully. They were the students who had been hurt when the Death Eaters had broken into Gryffindor Tower. None of them were badly injured, Madame Pomfrey had assured Lupin.

Most of the children who had been held hostage had returned to their dormitories, but not all. One boy was sitting up, his knees drawn up to his chin: Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger lay in the bed beside him, having finally given in to sleep, and Ron was watching her silently. McGonagall had already told them both what had happened to Harry. As Lupin passed, the boy looked up at him, opened his mouth, then shut it again and buried his face in his arms.

Lupin continued on. In another bed on his right lay Hestia Jones, still unconscious. The spell with which the Minister had knocked her out would not do her any lasting damage. Madame Pomfrey had already managed to awaken her to give her a few mild healing potions, including one which had sent her straight back to sleep.

Across the aisle from Hestia, to Lupin's left, a girl sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window at the rising moon, which was waning, and not quite full. Her short, spiky hair was colourless in the moonlight, but had it been daylight, it would have been a greying mousy-brown. As Lupin approached, she turned to look at him. Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes were shining.

"I'm sorry," Tonks said. Her voice was low and hoarse. "I had the Locket, but she knocked it out of my hand. It's my fault…"

"Don't say that," said Lupin, stepping in front of her and taking her hands. "Don't. You did nothing wrong."

"If I hadn't dropped it, they wouldn't have Disapparated…"

"It doesn't matter now."

"Stop it!" Tonks closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. She was clutching his hands very tightly. "Stop treating me like I can't take responsibility for myself. If it's my fault, it's my fault. If it's my choice, it's my choice!"

This, he realised with a sinking heart, was the crux of it. This was what she wanted to talk about: Love. Again. Lupin shook his head: he couldn't think about love, not at a time like this. "I can't let you love me. You're too young," Lupin croaked. "And there is a war on. And after tonight, there is every chance we will find ourselves on the losing side."

"But…"

Lupin leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He let her hand drop as he pulled away. "Please," he whispered. "I'm not ready for you. Not yet."

She watched him walked onwards.

The wing had been temporarily expanded, to accommodate for an emergency that had not resulted in as many injuries as feared. The rest of the beds in the Hospital wing were unoccupied, all but one. Lupin headed for this bed, at the very end of the room.

Sirius was lying on his side facing the wall, his hand curled by his chin. Madame Pomfrey had put him to bed and pulled the covers overtop of him, and she had also taken out the elastic band so that his black hair was spread around him like a veil. His eyes were open, staring blankly. If he hadn't blinked at intervals, anyone might have thought he was dead.

Lupin saw that there was a chair beside the bed. Dumbledore, of course, had left it there. Dumbledore thought of everything. Lupin pulled up the chair and sat down so that he was in Sirius's line of sight.

"Sirius," he said quietly. That was as far as he got, it was all he was able to say. A lump was jamming his throat so tightly no other words could escape. It felt as if blocks of ice had replaced his internal organs, as if angry wasps were filling his brain.

But as if his name had flicked on a switch, Sirius moved a little. No more than an inch, but it was something. His eyes remained staring at the wall, but his mouth opened and he spoke. "He's gone."

"No," whispered, Lupin shaking his head and wishing that he could make this true. If he could have made Sirius forget everything, forget Lily, and James, and Harry, even forget Lupin, just to rid his friend of the pain, he would have done so in an instant. "We're going to find him."

Sirius's eyes left the wall and focussed on Lupin, "Moony?"

"It's me," Lupin said, leaning forward. "I'm here."

"I let him go," Sirius's voice was so low Lupin had to lean down to catch the words. "I could have reached him…somehow…I should have been faster…"

"Don't think about that now."

Sirius didn't reply. His eyes slid back to stare at the wall, blank, emotionless. Lupin lowered his head, forcing down his tears. He had not only lost Harry, not only failed to protect a boy who had trusted him, who had relied on him. He had lost Sirius as well. Sitting there, Lupin felt as if he was drowning. It seemed impossible that things could ever be made right: it seemed impossible that Sirius would ever smile again. As surely as if a Dementor was leaning over his shoulder, Lupin felt certain that he could never feel happy again, not in this life, not for an instant.

And then he felt a touch on his fingers and looked up to find Sirius had reached out and taken his hand. Sirius was looking at him without despair, without bitterness, without self-blame, everything that Lupin was feeling. And in a voice that did not sound dead or toneless but alive and resolved, Sirius said quietly. "We will find him."

Lupin did not reply, but he waited there, until Sirius closed his eyes and fell asleep.

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A/N: And it is finished. I feel…bone weary, but somehow relieved. If you feel unsatisfied, tell me about it. I want to know. If you liked it – wow, I _really_ want to know. Email me all your questions.

Big thanks to Uchethegirl, who once again took the time to tear large holes in this chapter. You are too precious for words.

PART THREE – coming soon. And by 'soon', I mean, 'once my exams are finished' in two weeks' time. What will Part Three be like? You may have to wait and see, because I still don't know too much about it myself. BUT – I will get the first chapter up as soon as humanly possible. All I can tell you is that there will be lots of Sirius and Harry, and some new characters.

Review replies can be found at my livejournal:

www . livejournal . com/users/tawabids


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